


Between the Lines

by CCNSurvivor



Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms, Phantom - Susan Kay
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-25
Updated: 2016-06-11
Packaged: 2018-05-23 04:40:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 34
Words: 60,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6105214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CCNSurvivor/pseuds/CCNSurvivor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Starts just after Christine left with Raoul and follows Erik as he returns to Italy where he meets a woman who might challenge him in more ways than one. (I suck at summaries) (K)erik/OC</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

Prologue: Erik, 1882  
  


After she’d kissed me, I was certain death would come for me at last and I was prepared to meet it with silent resignation. My bones weary, I no longer possessed the youthful spirit to persevere. I had witnessed the splendour and the horrors of the world; I had built a shrine that was testament to both my music and the architectural skills I had been entrusted with and I had composed and performed my final masterpiece. I had accomplished all but the greatest feat of humankind.

But I had been granted a kiss, a final act of compassion. I was no longer severed from mankind but forever bound to it by a desperate need I hadn’t known existed until Christine touched it in me. That first sensation had sent my heart racing and it only stopped its erratic fluttering when she departed with the Vicomte de Chagny. Then it stopped, clenched painfully as if it, too, felt the dreadful absence. Its final beats pulsed through my wrists and my lids closed, preparing to embrace the welcoming darkness.

When I awoke again, no heavenly chorus welcomed me and suddenly a dreadful fear befell me. Had I been denied that privilege as well? Had my last acts been so abhorrent that I’d not been granted absolution? But as I looked around, my vision clearing, I came to see that I had not yet been taken from this earth. I had not been granted peace.

Around me lay the scattered remains of my most prized possessions, torn down in a fit of rage I could not recall. The silence of these ruins settled around me and blocked out the deafening pulse that had been beating in my ears.

_I was alive._  

Waves of despair would surely have overwhelmed me, had he not made his presence known at that very moment. Nadir, my friend and chaperone.

He navigated through the rubble of my past and offered me tea as if it was a customary tradition. He did not speak of my murderous rage that had very nearly cost him his life, nor did he mention Christine. Instead we talked like two civilised men might do in the Café Verlet whose most pressing concern was the change in the weather. He, too, could have convinced me at that moment that my coffin was a cat basket.

But as the hours ticked by and one day slipped into another, I suddenly remembered my final request, uttered in the throes of desperation. I realised then that my masterpiece had not yet reached its end; that Christine and I still had one last act to face. But I could not bear to see her again nor could I bear to witness her absence.

So I began to formulate a plan, a plan that would take me far away from the confines of the opera house. There was no doubt in my mind that I was a dying man but when that final pardon would be granted to me, I wanted to die in a place of beauty. My house, my sanctuary beneath the opera had lost its splendour in the tragedy I had inflicted upon it and it no longer befitted my idea of a suitable tomb.

Instead I would embark on one last voyage. Like Odysseus I would reclaim my rightful kingdom. I would return to the country I had once called my home. To the only place that could possibly satisfy my final greed for beauty.

 


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter 1: Nadir, 1882

  
Erik has left today and suddenly my little flat is filled with odd instruments and extraordinary memorabilia that have survived his terrible anger and that, in the end, he couldn’t bear to part with. In addition, he has left me with an unwanted house guest. His blasted cat has taken refuge on my windowsill for now but at least she has stopped her incessant hissing and the marking of her new territory. I have never been overly fond of these egoistic felines and the diamond collar around this one’s neck still fills me with deep unease. But the memory of Erik’s struggle and the pain he felt at leaving her behind is enough to make me treat her with the highest courtesy. Perhaps, in time, we shall come to value each other’s company.

With Erik gone, I suddenly find myself without a purpose and so in my thoughts I am accompanying him on this final journey. He does not expect to return and I fully understand that there’s nothing holding him here anymore. And although I am pleased that he has conjured up some shreds of energy, I worry for his health and safety during this strenuous journey. He hasn’t given himself much time to recover, something I fear is motivated by his desperate need to escape another confrontation with Christine Daaé. His last attack was quite severe and I am concerned how he will cope if he has another while out on the road.

I’ve watched him as he planned this journey, pouring over maps of France, Switzerland and Italy. I know that his route will take him past cities that have blossomed into metropolises and across the snow-covered Alps. Throughout all of this he’ll be out in the elements and solely restricted to his horse. He assured me that he would seek shelter if necessary but I am also aware that his curious appearance will limit his options to shadier accommodations. I hope in his desire to flee, he does not underestimate the traces age and heartache have left.

 

* * *

 

Nearly two weeks have passed since Erik’s departure and in another bizarre twist of irony his first letter just reached me as I was on my way to his house beneath the opera to await the arrival of Christine. I am relieved to hear he’s well and found himself lodgings just south of Dijon. His horse is healthy and the weather is living up to his expectations, making travel easy enough. He encloses hardly any other information about himself but focuses instead on detailed descriptions of his travel. He has always been a good story teller when he wanted to be and I am very much excited by this correspondence. He describes the beauty of nature with vigour but complains with just as much passion about the railroads and their noisy children, billowing black clouds into the sky and tainting the serenity around them. Nonetheless, he can’t entirely hide the fascination he possesses for the workings of these machines, mentioning once or twice some sketches he has been making along the way. He paints such a vivid picture, that it takes me a moment to realise my actual surroundings.

As I am sitting here, listening for the sounds that’ll indicate Christine’s arrival, I wonder if he’s aware of today’s date. I am almost certain of it, as a matter of fact, because for as long as I’ve known him his mind has been excellent at retaining dates and events laced with negativity and pain. He might have temporarily convinced himself that she would not return but I am just as certain that a spark of curiosity lingers in him. And should he ever require an answer, I will be prepared to supply him with it. Just as I want to be able to welcome Miss Daaé’s questions once she arrives. Fate has brought us together as the marionettes in the same little play and so I feel bound by loyalty to be of help until each of us is able to cut these strings.

Without Erik, the house feels eerily quiet as if a ghost, indeed, still haunts these premises. The darkness unsettles me and was it not for my watch, I’d have lost all concept of time. So it is with great relief that I finally perceive the faint echo of footsteps.

Pocketing Erik’s letter and arranging my attire, I rise to my feet to greet her. The fear in her eyes instantly makes me regret the apologetic facial expression I have chosen to adopt.

“Am I too late? Is he…?” she asks, the unfinished question hanging between us.

“No, he is well.” I hurry to assure her and the relief overwhelms her so strongly that I have to guide her to a chair.

The implications of her reaction make me glad that Erik has chosen to leave. He would not have survived another moment tied to her in uncertainty.

“But he isn’t here.” She states, sounding like a lost child while her eyes sweep over the room that has been utterly destroyed.

“No, he is not.” I confirm. “But he would appreciate knowing you returned to give him your invitation.”

My gaze falls onto the crisp, white envelope in her hands and her fingers momentarily constrict around it.

“I gave my word,” she answers feebly, staring emptily ahead of her, “and he said he would be here.”

I allow her to sit with her thoughts for a while until she fixes me with a look that begs for answers.

“He felt he had to leave, Mademoiselle. He has made peace with his life but yearns for one more voyage.”

“But he is dying?”

The perfect clarity of her voice trembles and I can see the threads of sanity unravel in front of my eyes.

“So will we all in time, Mademoiselle. But know that you have made him very happy. He wishes nothing but the best for you and your young man on your wedding day.”

“Raoul…”

She speaks his name with such regret that it tugs at my heartstrings, for somehow I know that she speaks of Erik much the same.

“He will support you and I hope in time we will all find our peace.”

Her wretchedness breaks free then in desperate sobs that smudge the ink on the envelope. I hold her and comfort her as best I can, wondering if perhaps it is for the best not to divulge every detail of this encounter to Erik.


	3. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for your kudos!!

Chapter 2: Erik, 1882

The trek across the Alps has driven me and my horse to great exertion and a chill has gripped my bones that no Italian sunshine seems capable of shaking. The snow and ice that glistened atop the peaks when the first ray of light broke through the darkness of night, was certainly a sight to behold and strengthened my will to push on. If the Romans found access to the heart of Europe via this pass, I, too, shall conquer it.

But I am an old man now and my body struggles to cope with the assault of the cold and the wind. There is a weakness in my chest that I can no longer deny. Nadir would, no doubt, be quick to point out that I am also experiencing the lack of my opiates and I daresay he'd be right. My hands have failed to obey me on more than one occasion and even the smallest ache seems to weigh me down. But my journey consists of enough uncertain elements to force me to remain in control of my faculties. I cannot yet abandon myself to my cravings.

Despite all that, however, the first glimpse of an Italian city instantly reconciles me. I can barely contain my desire to explore and almost set off without waiting for nightfall and the safety it provides. Although I did not pass Bergamo on my first visit to Italy, it feels familiar. The wide piazzas, the high spiralling towers of the churches and the rust-coloured rooftops all evoke a sense of peace and home-coming that I had not expected.

In the past, the events surrounding Luciana's death had tainted my memories of the country and made me cynical about all the beauty and kindness I had been shown here. But now upon my return, I find that I have done Italy a great injustice and denied myself this cornucopia of music, art and architecture.

I enjoy the view from the walls of the Città Alta that towers majestically over the Città Bassa to which some final stragglers are now retreating. Soon, I shall have this all to myself to explore as I see fit. And once more I thank my intuition that has guided me away from the hustle and bustle of Milan, filled to the brim with the crème de la crème of Italian society and mechanical monstrosities that would have disturbed the perfect serenity I experience here.

Once the streets have emptied, I begin my exploration, following the walls in one full circle. Then I venture deep into the centre of the city where the heart piece, the Basilica Santa Maria Maggiore, has been erected. From the outside, the washed down white façade of the cathedral with its finely crafted loggia is pleasant enough to look at but from the inside it is an abomination, completely overfilled with colour and golden ornaments. It is not the first cathedral like that I have encountered. It is as if the craftsmen believed the only way to please their God was to adorn their halls of worship with riches. My glance falls on the large crucifix and shaking my head, I exit. Surely a man of such humble beginnings would not need to be appeased in such fashion.

I meander slowly through the deserted city, pass the palazzos one by one and finally return to my camp at the foot of the mountains. For tonight, this shall suffice. The evening air is mild and beneath the stars I still retain my freedom, the very thing I have been forced to compromise throughout this journey when necessity and bad weather pushed me to rent rooms at various inns. As my wealth has grown over recent years, I have come to rely on certain luxuries and I shall waste no time reclaiming some of them again. But first I must find an appropriate spot to stay and while Bergamo was a wonderful reminder of Italian life, I have already exhausted all it has to offer. If I am to settle down somewhere permanently and for the very last time, it must be a place containing enough resources to satisfy my never-ending thirst for knowledge and beauty.

* * *

I set off the following night, remaining close to the mountains on an easterly course towards Verona. I know it won't be nothing but another short stop on my inevitable passage south. I am trying to resist Rome's pull, the allure that will, no doubt, carry me to Giovanni's doorstep. I am as frightened as I am fascinated by the reaction I shall suffer upon my return. Every man has a story and every story is plagued by ghosts and mine are particularly frightening.

I have no idea what I fear to discover once I make it there. Perhaps it is the sight of that dreadful balustrade or perhaps it is the essence of him that lingers in every corner. Whatever it is, I am not yet ready to face it and so I tirelessly journey on towards my next destination.

Warmth and humidity envelop me upon my arrival and make both my shirt and my mask cling to my skin. It is an uncomfortable sensation that quickly makes me yearn for the privacy of a bath. For now, I can only afford a quick wash, however, and in order to distract myself, I choose to venture into the city already. More people still frequent these streets and so I am forced to stick to the shadows, lest I draw the attention of some unwanted, intoxicated fool.

My progress is slow and my chest soon starts to ache. My lungs fail to keep up with the demands of my struggling body. I would not be surprised should the climate and withdrawal symptoms force me to produce my first bloodied handkerchief. I have been fortunate so far to avoid the fate that befalls so many stonemasons but I shan't be much longer.

I stagger past many of the magnificent buildings that line the streets like a drowning man, struggling to come up for air and ultimately crash ashore the limestone walls of the arena. I seek shelter beneath one of the many arches until a flickering light catches my attention. I turn clumsily to locate its source and finally perceive faint music, emanating from within the walls of this ancient structure. Mankind, it seems, has found a new purpose for this amphitheatre.

Though the melodies are clumsy and the voices mediocre at best, it is the music itself that pains me. Since Christine's departure, I have not been able to listen to a single note without reliving this terrible, all-consuming ache. Once my salvation, I no longer bask in the glory of music. Instead I recoil from it and flee from the memories that are already welling up. Christine's voice haunts me still and I will continue to find her in every beat, in every harmony I'll ever hear. So I must stay away from it. I have composed my last piece, my desire shall soon fade, too. Now all that's left to do is find something else to occupy my mind with.


	4. Chapter 3

Chapter 3: Anne, 1883

The dawn of the New Year has brought a multitude of changes. There are too many to count and too many to adjust to. It still seems like only yesterday that we left the familiarity of Bristol behind and started on this tiring journey across France and into the heart of Italy.

Father is hoping to revive his engineering business that once blossomed and bloomed, before commerce drew more and more people in and made for stiff competition. Mother hopes the Italian climate will help him to better health.

I am not sure what’s made them choose Rome, a fresh start can be challenging and the political turbulences that have plagued this country could place us in the middle of a great upheaval if we’re not careful. But all my concerns have fallen on deaf ears so far and I have been advised to adjust like my sisters to the slower pace of life down here. They are more than happy to spend their days outside in the sun, passing the time with idle gossip. They’re simple creatures, God love them, but sometimes I wish I could be satisfied just as easily. We have all been groomed to look presentable and charming, ready to accept the hand of any man willing to take us. There is nothing wrong with that, of course, it has been the way of the world for many years now, but I fear I need more of a purpose in life than waiting on some well-bred aristocrat day in and day out.

In Bristol, I had my secret project to keep me busy and with the help of friends and acquaintances there was always something to be done. Here in Rome, I have to start all over again. At least I speak the language, unlike the rest of the family who largely rely on the help of our butler. I am not sure how my father manages to pay him, surely we must be greatly indebted by now, but Aurelio is loyal and warm and patient and grateful for any payment he receives. He helps me build a steady vocabulary and assists me in the preparation of my daily excursions with a soft curiosity I can’t begrudge him. But at the same time I am careful to only divulge the things that won’t get him into trouble. He knows to leave the window open at night and in exchange I give him a rough description of my whereabouts.

What I do not tell him is that I have taken up occasional work on the fields outside the city. The French vineyards are experiencing a state of crisis due to insect infestation and so many Italian vineyards are seizing the opportunity to increase their sales. It is hard, manual labour under the merciless heat of the Roman sun and although it only provides me with a small income, it gives me the opportunity to pass my time in a manner that strikes me as more worthwhile. I am certain my father would be disgraced if he knew that any of his daughters had taken up work. But he is too invested in his own business to notice my absence and should there be any inquiries, after all, I have supplied Aurelio with a believable alibi.

* * *

 

Today, my return to the house has been delayed quite noticeably and I hurry through the deserted back alleys with a growing sense of panic. There is always a chance that one of my sisters might sneak into my room for a late-night chat and not even I could find acceptable means of justifying my absence. I could hardly explain that Gaetano, one of the chief grape pickers, tried denying me my wage once again.

There are few things I fear more than the loss of my freedom and yet there is something, an odd instinct, perhaps, that makes me stop short in our courtyard. I have the strangest sensation I am being watched. It is not the first time I have felt this presence, if you wish, often I have perceived it in the middle of the afternoon when my sisters enjoyed a cooling drink on the balcony. But this invisible spectator whose attention our house seems to have drawn, appears much more threatening now at night.

”Hello?” I ask.

The close proximity of my family prohibits me from raising my voice and so my question dangles feebly in the air and then gets swallowed up by a gentle breeze. Despite the warm temperature, I can feel the hair at the back of my neck stand on end.

When I receive no answer, I finally tear myself away and head towards the house, resisting my instincts that tell me not to turn my back to the unknown.

Inside, all the lights are switched off and I breathe my first sigh of relief. Had my absence been noticed, surely there would have been some sign of life. Glancing over my shoulder a last time, I pull my gloves out of my trouser pockets. Although I’ve grown accustomed to making my way up the mansion’s wall and to the dark square that is my window, I rely on them for stability and support.

But as it turns out, nothing goes according to plan today. I have barely touched the stone and climbed two paces when a voice startles me and causes me to lose my footing. The drop isn’t life-threatening but still makes me scrape my arms on the façade and sends a shooting pain up my ankles once they come into contact with solid ground.

“Trespassing can be dangerous, Signore.”

I utter a curse and turn around to peer into the darkness from which the voice has come. When I squint, I can just about see the outline of a man and my temper rises.

“I could’ve broken my neck, Sir!”

In my anger, I automatically switch to my native tongue.

“And perhaps that would’ve been just.” He counters coolly, changing from Italian to English without as much as a blink.

I do not know whether it’s his frustration or some odd curiosity that carries him forward and out of the safety of the shadows, but suddenly I am awarded a full glimpse of him. He is tall enough to tower over me and the fedora he wears shields his face from inspection. He hasn’t once raised his voice and yet the danger I feel in his every word has me rooted firmly to the spot.

“You must mistake me for a common thief.” I challenge, trying to appear braver than I truly am but to my surprise he chuckles.

“Perhaps not common,” he spreads his hands mockingly and I notice how long and bony his fingers are, “it is not the kind of employment one often finds a woman in.”

“You’re mistaken, Sir. Women and children have often been used to access places otherwise difficult to reach by men.” I contradict, suddenly possessed by a drive to outsmart him, even though it does not help my current predicament one bit.

“Perhaps,” he admits and his hands disappear again in the folds of his cloak, “but it does not require much skill to make it to that window. So once more, I advise you not to trespass.”

My body weary, I suddenly tire of this conversation. “As a matter of fact, Sir, it is you who are trespassing.”

With a swift movement, I pull back the hood of my coat and reveal my face to him. If it is the very same spectator, he will have seen me before.

And indeed his body tenses in recognition and he takes a step back. When he speaks again, his voice betrays a mixture of embarrassment and annoyance.

“It is not very becoming of a lady to sneak about at night.”

“Frankly, Sir, how I choose to conduct myself is none of your concern.” I reply, turning towards the house once more. “And I advise you not to return unless you wish to be reported to the authorities.”

Once more he chuckles as if he can see through my empty threat and then melts back into the shadows from which he emerged.

“The structure is not very safe and the stone is brittle. Sooner or later you’ll fall to your death.”

His threat hangs ominously above me and even when I lie in the safety of my bed, my heart refuses to calm its frantic beat.  


	5. Chapter 4

Chapter 4: Erik, 1883

Fate has at last brought me back to the place where I was once reborn. I daresay it was inevitable. Throughout my journey and even my excursions, there has been a restlessness I haven't been able to shake. It mixes oddly with the tiredness that I otherwise experience and as a result, has caused me many sleepless nights. My expectations, my passions aren't satisfied and I've become rather testy. My very last hope rests on Rome now.

But from the very beginning, I do not find the answers I came for. Like a pilgrim I retrace the route once shown to me by my master, visiting the edifices and monuments that then opened my eyes to architectural beauty. But today they fail to ignite that spark. Naturally, they are masterpieces in their own right but they hold my attention for no longer than a second. From one moment to the next, they suddenly become unoriginal and interchangeable and I grow weary of gazing upon them. It is, as if in the advent of Christine's departure everything that once held an allure has lost its shine, become faded and grey and utterly unremarkable.

The more sites I travel to, the more frustrated I become until, at last, I slide the silver compass out of my pocket and consult it as if it was capable of giving me an answer. Once upon a time, Giovanni took me to the Vatican in hopes that I might find forgiveness and support in the arms of his God but I am still faithless and lost, though no longer a boy, and the only way home I know leads me to the very place I'd sworn never to return to.

* * *

Upon my first visit, the house seems deserted. No light indicates any signs of human life inside and so I carefully stalk closer until the balcony stops me in my tracks. As I stare up at it, the past mixes with the present and all at once I see Luciana's tumbling finger, hear her piercing screams and recognise that the balustrade is no longer broken.

I make an effort to slow my breathing and purposefully try to focus on other aspects of the here and now, like the washed out façade that should have been better taken care of or the assembly of hanging plants that softly sways in the wind. Someone must have been here, after all. If only they had looked after this house more than just half-heartedly. Had this been mine, I would have tended to it with all the care and affection of a lover and in turn – thanks to nature's cruel design – it would have been the only partner that didn't shrink away from my touch.

More unwanted thoughts infiltrate my mind and bridge the distance to Paris. Once more I am holding Christine in my arms, feel the small of her back above the fabric of her dress and drown in her kiss.

My heart constricts so suddenly and painfully that I barely manage to steady myself against one of the columns that adorn the entrance of the house. The ground tilts beneath my feet and an irritating tingling runs up and down the length of my arm. I do not wish to die here, I do not wish to be found here or God forbid to be recognised. Surely, Giovanni had informed the rest of his family of the events that led to the tragic accident. Surely it would only take my mask for them to put together the pieces. I can barely walk or see and so it is with great effort that I stumble away into the night.

* * *

My recovery takes far longer than was once the case. The physical symptoms of my withdrawal make my heart pump even harder, a task it's no longer suited for. Breathlessness makes me heave and with every gasp old wounds once caused by crushed glass seem to reopen until my handkerchief and hands themselves are covered in blood. I know I would greatly benefit from a bed, a proper resting place but I cannot bring myself to settle yet in this godforsaken place.

Instead- once my legs can carry me again – I return to the house.

It has become my one fixation point, my new obsession, the only place capable of moving me. And so I visit it, day in, day out. I stick to the deserted back alleys and keep my distance until curiosity draws me closer.

But the first time I get near enough to catch snippets of conversation floating over from the balcony, I immediately recoil in dismay. The words spoken do not follow the fluid speed and rich intonation of the Italian language but are instead jarringly broad and round. English, I did not expect to encounter here.

I set one foot out into the sun and examine the tableau on the balcony. Three girls of varying ages, chattering happily, sharing tea. If they were to look up even once, surely they'd notice the silent guest down in the courtyard. But human beings are surprisingly oblivious to anything they do not wish to see and so I can remain standing here at my leisure, gazing upon them.

They all possess the same pale skin, the same dark hair and softly cut faces. But one of them carries herself with far less certainty and upon first observation, seems more of a maid than a sibling. She is the one that pours the tea and hands around the biscuits and when the conversation shifts to her, she is quick to move it along to something else. There is no possibility that they stand in any relation to Giovanni but I cannot fathom what could have possessed him to pass on this house to strangers. I feel a possessive sense of protectiveness over this structure and, therefore, demand to find out by what means these Englishmen have acquired the property.

* * *

The more often I return, the more questions present themselves to me. And when I catch one of the daughters attempting to climb into the house at night, I am faced with an even greater enigma.

What sort of lady chooses to conduct herself in such fashion?

It is true that throughout my travels I have encountered many women who acted entirely against their nature. Gypsy girls, for example, cannot be compared to the rest of the female race. However, this woman possesses the same air of hard worked-for prosperity her father does and, therefore, her actions feel entirely illogical.  
I cannot begin to imagine where it is that a girl like that might slink to but I am certain that it is something she wishes to keep a secret from her family and perhaps I can use that to my advantage.

I let only a few days pass before I return at night and await her arrival. She appears much quicker this time, approaching the house with purposeful steps. She wears the same hooded disguise as before and, I notice, has even adopted a man's swagger. Although, watching her now, I wonder how she ever managed to deceive me. Age seems to be taking its toll on all my faculties.

"Buonasera, signore." I greet her teasingly and the sudden tension in her shoulders gives away her annoyance.

"Did I not warn you sufficiently last time, Sir?" she replies, addressing me without taking the time to turn around. Instead she fishes out the same old pair of gloves and feels the wall for a suitable starting point.

"And did I not warn _you_?" I reply from the shadows. "Are you really so intent on breaking your neck?"

She tries her best to hide it, but I notice her shiver.

"What would your family say waking up to your broken body in the courtyard?"

She wheels around suddenly, smacking her gloved hands against her legs. "My family, Sir, would no doubt be relieved that they no longer have the burden of finding me a husband."

This passionate outburst seems to catch her as off-guard as it does me and so we remain in a stalemate of silence.

Eventually she releases a sigh and her shoulders sag. "Forgive me, Sir, but I am in no mood to entertain you tonight."

For a brief second I am overcome with compassion but then I remind myself what effect such foolish emotions have had in the past and continue pursuing her. "How unfortunate, Miss, as I see no reason to leave just yet."

"Then I shall inform my family of your presence." She retorts stubbornly and I chuckle.

"Be my guest. But bear in mind that you are forcing my hand. How would your father react if he knew of your daily excursions that last deep into the night?"

She tenses once more and then her whole body seems to deflate, making her shoulders droop even further.

"What do you want, Sir? Have you no other business to attend to?"

"Not at present," I reply smoothly and spread my hands in a diplomatic manner, "and all I ask of you is help in a certain matter. Who are you? Who is this family and how did you acquire this house?"

"I don't see how who we are concerns you." she begins but something about my earlier threat makes her quickly add: "But if you must know, we are from Bristol. We arrived here several months ago to start a new life. My father bought this property but I do not know from who. I am not involved in matters of business, Sir, that privilege is reserved for the men in most families."

I incline my head in acknowledgment but make no effort to hide my disappointment.

"Perhaps it is time you consulted him then. I'd hate to see what would happen if you failed to supply me with a satisfying answer next time."

"Sir, please!" she calls, sounding almost desperate now but her words do not reach me anymore.

The last shreds of kindness I possessed have disappeared together with Christine.


	6. Chapter 5

Chapter 5: Anne, 1883

The mysterious spectator has returned again, and this time he seems to be driven by an odd curiosity about our house. His threat hangs over me like a dark cloud, casting a shadow over everything I do. He did not specify when he would come back and demand those answers, but since he doesn't strike me as a very patient man I must come up with them as soon as possible.

I have tried asking father but only managed to offer him another opportunity to remind me that this is why I am having difficulties finding a man. Why must I have answers to everything that's already been taken care of?

His disapproval stings as it always does but the stranger's warning fills me with too great a fear to let my thoughts linger. Instead I find a way to pass my time until father leaves to meet one of his business acquaintances. Then I devise a task to occupy mother with and make my way towards the office.

Unfortunately, my relief is only short-lived, for all the cabinets containing vital documents are locked and I have the sinking feeling that the keys are on the chain my father wears around his neck. For a moment I remain frozen in a crouching position just behind the desk while my thoughts continue to race. Finally, I slide a pin out of my hair and slip it into the lock. There, I try jiggling it back and forth, side to side, matching the descriptions I have read in many adventure books, but the clicking sound I am waiting for never comes. It appears I don't have what it takes to become the heroine of this particular tale.

Cursing – in what the mysterious man would no doubt have described as a terribly unladylike manner – I give the desk a shove and slide the pin back into my hair. I have just risen to my feet, when the office door suddenly opens and a gasp tells me I have been discovered.

"Signorina?" Aurelio asks puzzled and I sigh in relief.

"Come in and close the door," I instruct, gesturing impatiently.

For a moment he looks doubtful but then thankfully complies. I do not wish to involve him in this but feel I have no choice. I am not certain what impact the stranger's words could have on my family, but there was a look in those amber eyes that made it very clear he won't shy away from getting his hands dirty. Not to mention the mask. Only someone with a troubled past or something unsavoury to hide would wear it.

"I am in trouble," I start and begin to lay out the whole situation.

While I talk, the groove between Aurelio's eyes deepens.

"Perhaps we should involve the police, Signorina." He offers once I have finished talking.

"This man sounds dangerous!"

"Which is why I think it's better if we just give him the answers he wants, then hopefully he will disappear. What harm could it do if he knew?"

Aurelio's eyes shift reluctantly towards the door, and then he nods and to my great surprise produces a key from the depth of his breast pocket. "Your father entrusted me with a copy…for emergencies only."

The guilty look on his face as he hands over the key nearly makes me feel sick to my stomach. If I hadn't done something I could be bribed with, we wouldn't be in this mess now.

"Thank you," I tell him, squeezing his hand, "I promise it'll only happen this once and I won't involve you in anything like this ever again."

"Ah Signorina," he smiles ruefully and his voice takes on an almost fatherly tone, "I am not concerned for myself. I am concerned for any harm that might befall you."

"There shan't be any." I decide determinedly and with the key in hand crouch back down in front of the drawers once more. "Once he has this information, he shall depart and that's that."

The lock finally clicks and springs open and I slide back the drawer to reveal a wealth of folders. The sheer amount of them is daunting but I have no choice and so start pulling them out one by one. At least with Aurelio standing guard by the door, I do not constantly have to shift my focus.

Every single folder I open contains a multitude of numbers and scribbled notes that are baffling to me. But eventually I can sense a pattern, for the further I get, the more the numbers slip into the negative. And although this is not what I have been searching for, my natural curiosity draws me in, makes me forget about the precarious nature of the current situation and causes me to investigate further.

The sickening feeling in my stomach gradually increases. Father has so many debts it is utterly frightening! And who are these people whose names are written down before me? What motivated them to lend such generous sums of money and what kind of deeds do they expect in return now that father clearly can't pay?

Hesitantly, I glance over the edge of the desk and towards Aurelio, and for a moment I ponder asking him about this. But then it is unlikely that he'd have any knowledge, otherwise he surely wouldn't have given up the key. And I've already burdened him enough for one day, I shan't do it again.

It is with great effort that I continue my search and am eventually fortunate enough to find the deed for the land and the contract signed by both parties. This is a starting point at least, but luckily I am accustomed to conducting more thorough research.

* * *

I wait until the next day to see if father has noticed any signs of the break in but he acts much the same. It is me who struggles to reconcile this new man I've discovered with the old one I thought I knew so well. The knowledge of our debts weighs down on me heavily and I am puzzled how he can bear to sleep at night. But there is nothing I can do to alter the situation and so I keep up my façade as well as he does.

In the afternoon, when my sisters take their tea on the balcony, I offer to pay a visit to our neighbours instead. Mother cannot guess my true intentions as she is much too excited by the prospect that one of them might have a handsome, suitable son. Under normal circumstances I'd waste no time making it clear that that was not the purpose of my visit but today I am happy to let her believe whatever she chooses to.

I have scribbled down the name from the contract on a piece of paper and with that in hand make my way across the sunny courtyard and towards the house the Angeletti live in. It is Nonna Leonora who opens the door for me and my joy is genuine, for she is just the person I was hoping to speak to. For a minute or two she fusses over my weight and general appearance, coaxing me into her kitchen for a refreshment. Then, finally, I am given a chance to speak.

"Did you ever meet Signor Cracchiolo?" I ask as nonchalantly as possible in my less than perfect Italian.

Leonora stops fighting with the cake tin for a moment and fixes me with her dark-brown eyes. "Who?"

"Signor Marcello Cracchiolo? The man who owned our house before we moved in?" I try again, hoping she might recall him now.

And thankfully the lively spark returns to her eyes once more and she nods enthusiastically. "Yes, yes, of course. Lovely family although riddled with tragedy."

"Tragedy?" I intersect, leaning forward on my elbows.

My mind is getting ahead of itself, trying to link the masked stranger to these events I shall soon learn more about.

"Oh yes," Leonora confirms again, laying out an array of baked goods in front of me, "his wife was very sick and passed away much too early. That's when he decided to leave. Probably couldn't stand to linger at a place that held so many memories, poor devil."

I nod, picking up a biscuit and start chewing on it.

"And was there no family to pass it onto? I believe my father got it at a rather decent price."

"No. No family." She shakes her head and sighs deeply. "They had inherited the house from Renata's father. He was a renowned stonemason and architect. Very wealthy and influential…passed away at a good mature age. Then, as I said, Renata, his oldest daughter, took over. She had three more sisters but their relationship was strained. I believe one resides in Sicily now and the other has left the country."

"And the third?" I frown.

"More tragedy," Leonora whispers conspiringly, "fell down that balcony of yours and broke her neck."

My thoughts instantly wander to my sisters and I shiver despite the warmth in the small kitchen. "How awful!"

"Indeed," she nods gravely but then suddenly breaks into a smile, "you're not thinking about leaving any time soon, are you?"

"No no," I hurry to assure her, "I am just a curious person."

"Curiosity in measure can be a gift, _cara_ , but be mindful that it won't come to hurt you somehow."

"Trust me," I say, thinking of the masked stranger once more, "that won't be the case."

* * *

From then on, I wait for him each and every day but curiously he doesn't return. For a man so impatient, that kind of behaviour is rather puzzling. But I daren't hope that he will fail to appear altogether.

Consequently, I neglect my work, not that anyone there would possess a contract to hold me to but staying cooped up in the house makes me anxious and tense and with every day that passes I curse him more and more.

Finally, one night from my vantage point on the balcony, I catch a glimpse of something shimmering in the dark. I lean forward and manage to make out the contours of his mask. Suddenly, I am possessed by a reckless urge to sit and wait, forcing him to figure out his own way up this treacherous wall. But then I remind myself that it would be foolish to vex him now and possibly prolong his presence.

Quietly, I tiptoe through the house and join him in the shadows of the neighbouring wall.

"You seem eager," he greets me, "I shall take that to believe you have found some answers?"

"Yes," I nod, peering up at him and then begin to recite all the information I have gathered, "my father acquired this place from a certain Marcello Cracchiolo."

I give him the details of the contract and he snorts with something that's either derision or amusement. "A laughable sum. He might as well have given away the house."

"Apparently that was his intention," I interrupt before he can waste much more of my time with his soliloquy, "he just wanted to depart with it as soon as possible."

"Whatever for?" He sounds confused and annoyed.

"His wife Renata was terminally ill and passed away. Too many bad memories, I suppose."

"Renata," he hums, "what about her sisters? Surely it was their right to have a say in the matter."

I am perplexed by his insight and so only capable of staring at him. A mistake, as I realise much too late.

"Come, come now, Signorina," he demands, his tone taunting me, "out with it. I am certain your parents have raised you better than to ogle strangers like a common peasant."

His words infuriate me, and it is with great effort that I force myself to continue calmly.

"One of them has left the country, the other resides in Sicily. I suppose with his wife's death and all, they just weren't a priority."

An angry flame seems to at once ignite in his eyes and instinctively I take a step back.

"Indeed," his voice is gravelly and low, "what a travesty!"

I do not understand the fury that seems to have overcome him but I am grateful when he turns his back to me.

"We shall see about that."

Once more he slinks away into the night and I am certain he's forgotten all about me. Now all I can do is hope and pray that I shan't ever see him again.


	7. Chapter 6

Chapter 6: Erik, 1883

 

What a fool I am! You'd think I have learned nothing in those 50 years on this earth. Once upon a time I'd prided myself on my self-restraint and control. How else would I have survived month after month starving in a filthy cage? But those goddamn opiates I cannot resist.

Night after night Christine haunts me until finally I can no longer conjure up enough restraint to resist the only thing that promises me peace. And what a blissful escape it is while it lasts! Lulling my senses and filling my mind with soft, soothing music until I am entirely numb to any pain and unaware of any danger that might be lurking around the corner.

It is reckless behaviour that I am fortunate enough not to pay for with my life.

But oh so many days pass while I am floating on that cloud of euphoria. And even when the world loses its blurred edges, it takes me a considerable amount of time to recover. When I finally find my footing again, I am all too aware of how much time I've wasted. My only hope is that the girl has acquired the information I desire or else, I fear, I must make her pay!

* * *

 

Once more, mankind reveals its disgusting short-sighted nature. This man, this Marcello Cracchiolo, who has been entrusted with this jewel that he is obviously too ignorant to appreciate, has closed a sale without considering the appropriate measures first. But I shall right this wrong. Perhaps this is why I was sent on this last voyage; perhaps this is my final purpose. I shall find a way to repay the man who once greeted me with such warmth, patience and affection.

While the rage lingers, I scour the streets of Rome for traces of Marcello Cracchiolo. Somewhere I know that it will be impossible to locate him right this second, but the fury that runs through my veins like poison, prohibits any rational thought. I walk and walk until I have completely exhausted myself and then crash down in the camp I have set up near a grazing ground for my horse. Tomorrow, I shall start the search.

* * *

 

The first rays of sunlight bring no comfort to me but make me abandon all attempts at getting rest. There are too many loose ties and too little information to send me on my way and so, instead, my feet take me back to Giovanni's house.

I have sworn not to become dependent on another soul ever again but for the time being I must make use of the information only the girl can provide. It is not beneath me to stalk around at dusk, prying on the neighbours and pressing them for the facts I need to hear but sometimes a female touch is much more effective.

She isn't expecting me this time but appears at the house with an air of quiet calm. That, I am certain, shan't last long.

"Good evening."

With great restraint I manage to keep my voice civil and even. I can see the slight hesitation before she keeps walking, clearly hoping that if she doesn't acknowledge my presence, I will go away again. Unfortunately for her, this strategy shan't yield a result.

"As much as you wish to escape me, Signorina, I would like to have a word."

She pauses once more and finally turns towards my voice. "Have I not done what you asked of me? What must I do to be rid of you?"

Her desperation amuses me and I chuckle. "Come, come now, my dear, enough of the unnecessary dramatics."

"Dramatics?" she exclaims, puffing out her chest. "You threatened me and God knows you meant it! Yet you expect me to embrace you now like an old friend?"

"You'll find that no-one has ever paid me such courtesy, my dear." I reply smoothly, feeling the last shreds of patience escape my grasp.

"I am not surprised," she mutters, "you do not exactly inspire kindness."

The red veil settles like an old, familiar comfort over me and I barely notice that I grab her by the throat and pin her up against the wall. She struggles and chokes and the sound is like nectar to me.

Another addiction arises from its slumber, intoxicating my mind.

"Indeed not, Signorina," I press out, feeling my heart beating angrily against my ribcage, "and since I've been denied basic kindness since the beginning of my life, I have learned to treat the rest of mankind similarly. Now, my dear, if you will, I'll require some more information."

Her eyes are wide and terrified when I drop her and she's only capable of nodding.

"Renata's sisters, the one abroad and the one in Sicily…I need to know their exact whereabouts and which one is the oldest."

She opens her mouth to ask what will likely be a redundant question and so I swiftly cut her off.

"Consult the neighbours, track down Marcello Cracchiolo if you must. But bear in mind that you only have three days. If you're empty handed upon my return, you shall pay the price."

I turn around, my cloak billowing and only briefly glance back at her. She hasn't moved an inch yet and I am certain that she won't dare disappoint me.


	8. Chapter 7

Chapter 7: Anne, 1883

My body is overcome with trembles even hours after he has left. My chest feels heavy and constrained and my throat is raw like sandpaper. I have no doubt that come morning I shall find fingertips imprinted on my neck. He no longer needs to threaten me with words, his actions have spoken loud enough. Whatever he asks of me I shall do without comment or complaint. I am certain he would've killed me, had I not been of value to him.

As the minutes tick by and my body shifts from rigid and tense to heavy with fatigue, I cannot bring myself to sleep. I know that he has left and yet I fear some kind of attack if I close my eyes and let down my guard. Perhaps it would be wise to use the time by creating a plan that will get me this impossible information but my thoughts are scattered, darting wildly around, refusing to settle.

The pen twitches in my hand, dropping large ink blotches all over the empty paper in front of me. Gradually I transform them into shapes until finally, after a long time of mindless sketching, the shapes give way to letters and words. I haven't felt the urge to write ever since we've left England. Too many things happened to keep me busy otherwise and without my trusted group of friends, eager to listen and share their own pieces I haven't felt motivated enough. But now everything comes flooding out of me with no regard to sense or order, purely driven by panic and despair.

I only stop in the early hours of the morning when my frantic thoughts have turned mundane and my eyes are much too heavy to keep open. But the few hours of sleep I get are filled with chased dreams and flickering figures that I fail to grasp. And even though I was far from youthful to begin with, I could swear to have aged overnight.

* * *

I do my best to wash and powder my face, covering the bruising around my neck and the redness on my face caused by the salt of my tears. Despite my efforts, both my sisters and my mother fuss over me at breakfast, bombarding me with questions as to my eating habits and exercise out in the sun. And father wastes no time reminding them that perhaps too much solitary activity has led to my sudden fatigue.

I leave the table at that point, letting his anger and exasperation wash over me on my way out. I have had my fill of his snide remarks and the constant reminders of his disappointment, and right now, I certainly have enough on my plate with one angry man. I shan't tolerate the wrath of another who has plunged this family into ruin. If he challenges me again, I shall make his debts known.

For now I direct my steps to the house beyond the courtyard in hopes that Nonna Leonora will once again be able to save my hide. But when I arrive, she isn't home. Her daughter Teodora opens the door for me instead and invites me inside for a coffee. Her mother, she explains, has gone on her usual stroll down to the market. We spend a few minutes expressing our mutual admiration for her level of energy at such a high age and then turn towards more mundane topics.

At length we discuss the current weather and the state of her marriage and the longer it continues, the harder I find it to hide my boredom.

"How do you spend your time when your husband is attending to his work?" I eventually ask, hoping to sound politely curious rather than judgemental.

"I look after mother and the house," she smiles and shrugs, "and once a month I meet with a group of women a few streets from here."

"To catch up and share stories of recent events?" I inquire, feeling the insincere smile stretch my cheeks too far.

"No…it's something a little different." She chuckles. "Though we do spend a little bit of time discussing each other's lives. Sometimes we even indulge in some biscuits and hot beverages."

There is a twinkle in her eyes that tells me she's long ago grasped my true feelings. Fortunately, she doesn't appear to be offended and happily continues talking.

"What we do is not to everybody's taste so we try to keep it largely under wraps."

Momentarily forgetting about the events that brought me here and with my interest piqued, I sit up straighter.

"I'm sure it can't be that bad." I say, trying to coax more information out of her and to my surprise, her face takes on an almost pleased expression.

"We get together to discuss the books and pamphlets released by the _Lega promotrice degli interessi femminili_. It is frowned upon by some to do so publicly and that's why we've taken to holding our meetings privately."

The atmosphere in the house seems to have changed all of a sudden. I've become all too aware of the fragile silence that could be broken any minute now by the return of Nonna Leonora. But every fibre of my body tingles at this revelation and I struggle to come up with an appropriate response quick enough.

"My friends and I made use of a secret printing press to release similar documents in England." I tell her, my tone instinctively dropping to a whisper. "Perhaps you would once consider inviting me along to a meeting?"

Her smile turns even warmer. "I shall speak to the others and see if they agree. Once I have their permission, I shall seek you out."

I open my mouth to respond, to thank her at least, but the sound of the front door falling shut cuts me off before I get the chance. And all at once everything takes on its normal form and I feel the constricting pressure of the man's threat around my neck again.

"We have a visitor, mother." Teodora calls and the old woman enters the kitchen with a curious smile, several bags dangling from the crook of her arm.

"Anne? Twice in such a short amount of time? To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"I have a few more questions about Signor Cracchiolo, if you don't mind." I reply, rising to my feet out of polite habit.

"And here I thought you'd come for my biscotti. You wouldn't be the first one, you know?" she teases me good-naturedly and firmly pushes me back down in my chair.

Her daughter extracts the grocery bags in the meantime and goes about putting everything in its place.

"They might have been a vital factor," I acknowledge playfully and Leonora chuckles in delight and quickly goes about producing a fresh plate for me.

"And now your questions, Signorina." "

I believe you told me that Renata was the oldest since she inherited the house and that poor girl that plunged to her death was the youngest?"

"Yes," she nods, helping herself to some biscuits as well.

"What about the other two? Which one is oldest?"

I have decided to start with the easiest question since it'll give me a small sense of achievement.

"Fabiana is older than Chiara." She smiles and then chuckles anew. "You'd think you're trying to draw up a family tree. You have an odd sense of curiosity, my dear."

I am suddenly too aware of her well-meaning suspicion and the look Teodora has started giving me as well and desperately wish to explain myself, but Leonora is much too old to become involved.

"I am a writer," I explain, hoping that this half-truth will satisfy them, "once something inspires me I find it difficult to let go."

"A woman with a large imagination can be dangerous."

Leonora's words sound serious and yet I don't get the impression that she is scolding me. At a loss of what to say next, I buy myself more time by eating another biscuit. It's freshly baked and warm and crumbles in my mouth.

But the satisfaction is short-lived as I suddenly realise that I have manoeuvred myself into a dead end. The explanation I have just given her could not justify why I would enquire about their addresses next. Even for a storyteller those would be oddly specific details.

"And my final question," I speak up at last , trying to change my approach, "is about Marcello Cracchiolo himself. I am not sure how well you got to know him but perhaps you know where he could've gone after selling the house? Perhaps a place that he liked to frequent?"

She breaks into a deep frown and spends a few moments in quiet contemplation.

"A couple of times before Renata became ill, I would catch her in the courtyard on her own. We'd chat then, share what life had been like. She always told me that her husband had gone to the horse races. I am not sure how helpful that is but perhaps it'll be enough to spice up your story."

I thank her and rise to my feet, unable to shake the feeling that she still doesn't fully believe me.

Her daughter brings me to the door and promises me once more to contact me when she has heard from her friends. And my head filled with new possibilities, I set off to collect the rest of the information.

* * *

I spend the better half of the following day trying to discover more about horse racing in Rome. The _giornale_ informs me of a popular event that takes place every Saturday at the Ippodromo delle Capannelle but the advertisement frequently mentions words like "modern" and "new" which leave me wondering if it had even been built when Marcello Cracchiolo possessed enough time to venture out of the house.

"Aurelio?" I ask when the butler steps onto the balcony to serve me an afternoon refreshment. "Do you happen to know when the Ippodromo delle Capannelle was erected?"

He looks perplexed but chooses not to question me. "Two years ago."

I accept a glass of juice from him and curse inwardly. "And where would one have gone to see a horse race before that?"

"At the Porta San Giovanni." He answers and then leans in and asks: "Are you in more trouble?"

"Because I inquire about horse racing?" I force a chuckle. "Don't be silly. I'm just curious and thought that with the family setting of on their trip in a few weeks' time, I might find something to entertain myself with."

"You better be careful, Signorina," he sighs, "the races are no place for a young lady. They are a prime breeding ground for devious activity."

"How fortunate it is then that I don't happen to be a young lady anymore nor wish to be involved in any devious activity." I point out with a grin and he lifts his hands in defeat.

"Are you certain you shan't wish to follow your family?"

"Completely," I nod, the grin slipping off my face, "I couldn't think of something more mind-numbingly dull than to endure day after day witnessing my sisters make googly eyes at every potential bachelor available."

"It might smooth things over with your father."

"Perhaps," I take another sip of the juice, "but certain things are meant to be rough."

He smiles sadly, indicates a bow and turns towards the house.

"One last question," I call after him and he stops, "is the old race course closed completely?"

"Yes." He answers. "Only drunks and sentimental fools frequent it now."


	9. Chapter 8

Chapter 8: Erik, 1883

Time is a fickle thing. In one moment it can move scrupulously fast, in the next it drags on sluggishly.

My time spent bound to Christine in passion has transformed me from a hopeful young fool to a resigned, old man. And now, as I am waiting to receive this information that I so crave to possess I am once more changed. The forceful impatience of youth has me in its grasp, and I cannot help but surrender. I can't even rid myself of this restlessness long enough to examine why I am so eager to make progress in the current situation.

Opium is my only medicine, the only means to bring about sufficient sedation. It is still a dangerous undertaking consuming it without appropriate shelter available, of course, but once my head is filled with this sweet void, I am only capable of forgetting. Even so, one day slides languidly into the next until it is, at last, time to return to the house.

* * *

The girl is expecting me. At first I don't realise she's there, but as I draw closer to the wall that fences off the property, I suddenly notice the figure awaiting me in the shadows.

"Sir," she greets me with cool politeness, and I am pleased to see how much I've frightened her.

"Signorina," I return in a similarly cool fashion and come to a standstill just in front of her.

I want her to feel the cold fabric of my cloak, my breath that washes over her with every word I speak. I want her to remain intimated to ensure that the information she gives me is truthful. I shan't expose a weakness she might exploit.

"Have you found the information I require?"

She seems to struggle with herself for a moment, looks as if she's biting her tongue.

"Yes, Sir," she finally nods and holds up a sheet of paper, "you'll find everything you've asked for here."

My eyes don't leave hers and after a while she can't bear the intense contact and lowers hers to the paper instead.

"You insult my intelligence, Signorina." I say quietly and watch her tremble before me. "Do you really expect me to simply accept this gibberish without a proper explanation?"

"I would not betray you," she replies firmly, although her voice shakes.

"Unfortunately, I do not make it a habit to place blind trust in strangers."

"And yet…" she starts before shaking her head. "Sir, I have discovered that Fabiana who now resides in Sicily is the oldest. Chiara has moved with her husband to Sweden."

"And the addresses?" I inquire.

She answers by waving the piece of paper in front of my face. Giving her a grim look, I snatch it away and briefly scan over her writing.

"Fetch me some more paper and a pen," I instruct, without looking up at her, "and an envelope!"

"Why?" she frowns but my hand on her wrist quickly silences her.

"It wasn't a request, Signorina."

She swallows visibly and then turns and jogs away.

When the silence settles around me, I take a moment to evaluate the information I've been given. Sicily has always been an option, a goal that's certainly attainable, and it's a stroke of luck that it is the oldest sister who lives there. Sweden, on the other hand, is rather a big setback. Should Fabiana decide not to accept the house, I shan't find the strength to travel north again. Yet I will not be able to live with myself either if I leave it unsolved.

When the girl returns, she offers me pen and paper wordlessly and using the wall as support, I write my letter in light of a nearby lantern. She doesn't shift closer or tries to peek over my shoulder and I am thankful for I might strangle anyone at the slightest interruption.

Once I've finished writing, I hold out my hand for the envelope and she silently passes it to me.

"Copy the Swedish address you've given me onto the envelope and send it off. I have explained the situation and established you as point of contact. You will monitor any letters your family receives and inform me of any correspondences upon my return."

"You'll be going to Sicily then?"

"Yes." I answer simply and turn away from her. "But I advise you not to breathe a sigh of relief just yet. There will be eyes on this house day and night. And I expect you to come to the balcony every evening and look for me."

"There's no need to threaten me, Sir." She says quietly. "I have no connections such as yourself and nowhere to flee to either. I am completely at your mercy."

And suddenly, although I am loath to admit it, my triumph tastes a little bitter.

* * *

I am on the road once again for the better half of the following month. Although I don't waste precious days this time exploring cities that are new to me, my progress gets hindered on more than one occasion by angry mobs and the ever changing moods of mother nature.

Thanks to the current state of politics in this country, many working people in the south are outraged by the lack of support they have received and therefore eager to persecute any stranger that passes their land. And I suppose my mask lends itself well to further speculation. I could be a spy, sent by the government and determined to hide my face. I cannot blame them and yet it angers me that my journey is transformed into a tediously long process thanks to their suspicions and the politicians' inaptness.

The sea, at first, provides a welcome change, a certain tranquillity that allows me to unwind for just a moment until it, too, turns against me. The sweet rhythm of the waves disappears and gives way to an angry, roaring beast that tosses us about as if we were the size of ants. While the crew - that I've bribed with a handsome sum of money- seems calm in the face of this all, it is enough to make me regret choosing the sea route for a large part of this journey. But I have weathered many storms and sooner or later this one will pass as well.

Fortunately, once I have reached my destination, Fabiana's address is simple enough to find and so is their governess who responds well to my flattery and disgusting offer of monetary support. It is her who delivers the relevant paperwork to Fabiana and her husband and coveys my message.

But this is where luck deserts me once again.

By nightfall she brings me the news that the family has happily settled down in Sicily and while appreciating the offer, prefers remaining here. I am filled with such rage that it borders on a miracle I don't kill her.

The stupid fools with their false politeness, refusing a gift such as this. I should burn down their entire house and force them to reconsider! Instead I start the tedious journey back to Rome in hopes that the other sister has made a wiser decision.

* * *

Upon my return, late summer has taken hold of the city, bringing with it scorching hot days and humid evenings. I look after my horse that has been irreplaceable on this passage and then make my way to Giovanni's house. I am tired to the bone but I require an answer first if there is any hope of resting. Along my way, the heavens open and within seconds my garments become drenched and heavy and every step I take with great difficulty.

Despite the amount of time that's passed, the girl is sitting out on the balcony as per my instructions. She's engrossed in a book but eventually looks up and glances towards the courtyard. Perhaps she has felt my eyes boring into her.

I see the regret that washes over her face before she makes an effort to neutralise her expression once more and then she rises to her feet and walks downstairs to join me. When she finally emerges, I am happy to find her carrying a letter. Perhaps I shall gain some closure tonight, after all.

"You have been gone some time." She comments and I try to be pleased with her disappointment at finding me here again.

It doesn't escape me that she appears to have gained weight and a slightly healthier colour in my absence.

"It was a long trip, signorina." I reply simply. "Now I believe you have something for me?"

She nods wordlessly and hands over the letter which, I discover to my great surprise, is unopened. I had expected her to be much nosier.

But there's no use dwelling on that now.

My fingers impatiently slip under the seal of the envelope and tear it open. I needn't scan more than the first line to feel my hope and excitement diminish.

"Ignorant wench!" I hiss and angrily crumple it up.

"What did they say?"

"They said nothing of consequence, Signorina." I mutter.

I have started pacing back and forth without noticing it.

"She is clinging on to a ridiculous grudge she seems to have held since her childhood. You see, her youngest sister was always the favourite and even when she was finally out of the picture and the father passed away, another sister inherited more than her." By now my voice is shaking with anger. "She politely declines this pity gift and wishes to no longer be disturbed."

"I suppose that's understandable." The girl voices carefully.

"Shut your mouth!" I bark at her. "You know as little as the two of them! Have you no respect? No integrity?"

She steps away just as I want to grab her and as my arm reaches into empty air, a paralysing pain shoots through my body. All of a sudden the world tilts and I am on my knees. Blood pounds in my ears and spews out of my mouth onto the pavement in front of me. Her screams seem intangibly far away and the hoarse and heavy panting sound that intermingles with them cannot possibly be produced by me.

"Let this be my final breath." I beg as my vision starts to fade but instead I am being hoisted to my feet with more strength than I would've expected of her.

Muttering words that never quite reach me, she guides me into the house and navigates a staircase that leads into the cellar. It is a miracle she doesn't trip and break her neck. Somehow she manoeuvres me onto a discarded mattress on the floor and as I look up at the spinning ceiling, time seems to shift once more, transforming me back into the young boy that once called this space his home.


	10. Chapter 9

Chapter 9: Anne, 1883

He is in my cellar! The man I have come to loathe and fear is in my cellar!

Just when I thought there could be nothing more frightening than his anger, he started fitting right in front of me. The sounds he makes are almost inhuman and the blood, my God, the blood. For a split second it occurs to me that I could just leave him there, hide out in the house to escape the gruelling scene and claim to find him the next morning but the thought passes as quickly as it came. My father might have his flaws, but he did not raise me to be a cold blooded murderer.

While the man coughs and splutters he strings together incoherent sentences, mentioning people and places that mean nothing to me. I try to make him comfortable, to stop him from choking on his own blood but the pain that has him doubled over seems to be stemming from a different source. I try to reassure him by making him promises for things entirely out of my control and I realise then that I don't even know his name. Considering the circumstances in which we've met, that is not surprising, of course, however it makes me wonder how I can hope to give him comfort when I can't even address him like any other human being.

The helplessness threatens to consume me and by the time his spasms stop, my body has surrendered to violent trembles.

"Sir?" I ask hesitantly and inch towards him.

When he fails to answer my stomach starts to turn.

I don't want to startle him or trigger another unexpected rage and so I very carefully slide his cloak out of the way and inch up his sleeve. The mask which has stayed firmly in its place throughout this ordeal, I do not dare touch.

He has a pulse, it's very weak but at least it's there.

I inhale deeply and try to let some calm wash over me. But when peace of mind continues to elude me, I rise to my feet and quietly make my way out of the cellar. I'm not sure what I am setting out to do but there has to be something to keep me busy.

My search leads me into the kitchen where I absent-mindedly fill two glasses with water. I have never had to play hostess and I am not certain as to the social conventions now that I am entertaining a dying man. But I've seen my mother offering drinks and refreshments at parties and while this isn't exactly a lively get-together, I figure that after his violent attacks he must be parched. I decide that this is a good idea until I remember reading a medicinal pamphlet once that warned about invisible injuries. Could drinking water aggravate his condition further? If only there was somebody around I could ask for advice.

That's when it hits me. I am alone, completely alone with a man that's nearly killed me, a man that has no doubt killed many others before. My family is miles away, trying to find a suitable match for both my sisters and despite Aurelio's insistence I have sent him home earlier today. I was trying to protect him but I was also hoping to read some of the books Teodora recently brought over. Now I have involuntarily manoeuvred myself into a vulnerable position.

In an effort to pull myself together, I collect one glass from the counter and a blanket from my sister's bedroom and return with both to the cellar. The man hasn't even shifted on the mattress and it is a relief to see him fast asleep in front of me. At least for now I can make believe that he is no threat. I wrap the blanket around him, careful not to wake him, and place the glass on the floor by his side. Then I feel for his pulse once more and when I'm satisfied that I am not yet sharing my house with a corpse, I make my way back upstairs.

I am drenched in cold sweat and splatters of his blood and feel as if my body might purge itself of my food any second now. But somehow I make it up to the bathroom and wash myself and then descend one floor to settle down on the sofa in our living room. I want to be close enough to hear him if he tries to leave the cellar and I know I won't be able to sleep a wink tonight in anyway.

* * *

My dreams are interspersed with agonising screams and pleas for mercy. I am trapped on one side of a wild and roaring river and when I try to make my way across and towards the person that's suffering, I lose my footing and get dragged beneath the surface of the foaming water. I struggle and fight my way up again but suddenly find myself surrounded by an impenetrable sheath of ice. I kick against it, scrape my knuckles against it until they bleed but suffocate slowly and painfully nonetheless.

My body twists around on the sofa until I am lucid enough to notice that the silence in the house has been broken. What I had thought to be the sounds of me fighting against my icy cage, were actually the sounds of somebody moving around in the house.

I startle upright, my heart beating painfully fast, and quietly stalk to the end of the room. I have no weapon on me, nothing to restrain him with and fear that despite his ill health he could easily overpower me. Still I press on; there is no alternative.

I have barely made it across the corridor when a familiar humming stops me in my tracks. Aurelio, of course! How could I have forgotten about him?

Relief makes me sag against the nearby wall and I focus on my breathing and his humming until the surge of adrenalin passes. Then, the next question presents itself to me. Do I tell Aurelio what transpired last night? Or do I try to keep him away from the cellar? It's not as if he frequents it as part of his daily routine but what if he just happens to retrieve something from storage? And what about the stranger? What if he wakes up and refuses to remain hidden down there?

Before my mind can get carried away with any more terrible scenarios, Aurelio emerges from the kitchen and spots me.

"Are you feeling alright, Signorina?" he asks, worriedly and quickly strides towards me.

"Yes…yes, of course." I try but it doesn't sound very convincing, not even to my own ears.

I am concerned that there might be traces of blood left on me still or anything else that might give away the secret I'm keeping.

"You look pale," he comments, eyeing me closely, "perhaps the sofa wasn't a suitable spot to spend the night?"

I force out a rueful chuckle and nod. "That's certainly true. It wasn't nearly as comfortable as my bed. I probably stayed up a little too long as well."

"Ah, so that's why you were so eager to have me leave yesterday, Signorina." He chuckles and I am glad to see him relax somewhat.

"Yes," I nod, "you know how happy I am to have some privacy now that the family is gone."

"I understand," he smiles and squeezes my hand, "just don't exhaust yourself in the process. There's plenty of time still left until their return and I promise I will do my best to stay out of your way."

"Are there many things you must take care of today?" I venture conversationally and follow him back into the kitchen.

"Well, I am handling your breakfast now and then I thought I might see to the garden before the midday sun starts burning."

"And in the afternoon?" I pry, fiddling with a piece of bread he's already put aside.

"I'll see to the rest of the house."

I nod silently, feeling my appetite dwindling once more. "I am certain the house is in a good enough state."

"Maybe," he answers with a shrug, "but I have to make sure so that your father won't dismiss me upon his return."

"My father should be grateful you're still here, at all." I mutter under my breath and ignore his puzzled look. "Might I have some more bread, perhaps?"

"Of course," he smiles, "I'm glad to see you have a healthy appetite."

I try another smile but it only twitches nervously in the corners of my mouth. So I remain silent and avoid eye contact until he has finished cooking me breakfast. I accept the plate and pick at it until I am satisfied that he has left for the garden, then I rise to my feet and make my way down to the cellar.

The door creaks open and it takes no more than one step for the darkness to swallow me up. The cool and damp air makes me shiver and while my eyes try to adjust to the lack of light, I use the man's mask as a beacon to guide me to his whereabouts. How odd that I managed all of this yesterday in the same conditions without even noticing.

Upon hearing my footsteps he suddenly stirs and I stop halfway across the room with the tray in my hand. The crockery chimes noisily against each other to the beat my trembling hands dictate. The only thing that eventually calms me is the observation that he barely has the energy to pull himself upright. So I step closer and set the tray down by his side next to the water that's still untouched.

"You saved me."

It isn't a question and yet he makes it sound as if it should be.

"It's not a habit of mine to let people die on my doorstep." I reply coolly, crossing my arms.

He seems to mull this over while trying to unclasp his cloak. His hands are so unsteady that several minutes silently slip by until he succeeds.

"How strange…" he mutters, more to himself and then proceeds to look around the cellar as if in search for something.

For the longest time I just seem to cease to exist.

"You can stay here until you're better," I finally inform him when I've had enough, "my family isn't here right now but our butler is. I haven't told him of your presence in this house and I'd like it to stay that way."

"Quite a confession," he replies and chuckles hoarsely until another coughing fit overwhelms him.

"I am not playing around anymore, _Sir._ " I tell him firmly and turn my back to him while he tries not to suffocate. "You owe your life to me. You are indebted to me now."

"And you're certain that I shall be grateful?" he calls after me. "I did not ask for this favour!"

I turn to look at him, see the blood that's discolouring his lips and believe him. And yet there's something in those amber eyes that tells me he has a sense of morality, after all. He might threaten me still in the future but I doubt he'd ever harm me again.


	11. Chapter 10

Chapter 10: Erik, 1883

For the second time in my life, I seem to have acquired a nurse. She works with cool efficiency, checks my pulse and brings me refreshments at regular intervals. Just like Christine she doesn't seem to know what else to do with herself and finds safety in my weakness, but unlike Christine her sanity does not hinge upon my well-being.

Her first few visits are marked by silence. She goes through the motions and then retreats back upstairs and for the first couple of days that arrangement suits me fine. But as time mercilessly moves on, torturing thoughts start emerging from the quiet. They start to build a web around me, cocooning me in the memories of my life. The cellar becomes an illusion filled with whirring objects and architectural sketches. My body transforms from cold and faint to satisfyingly worn out and sun kissed. There is a treacherous sense of safety that seems to rob me of life and makes me question my age. Surely next time the door opens, Giovanni will wander in, inviting me to accompany him to another building site. But this is wherein the error lies, one simple fact that lets me see the sham for what it is. Giovanni had never invaded the privacy of this room, he had respected my independence and trusted that my loyalty would make me seek him out eventually.

In the aftermath of the mirage, I am possessed by even greater frailty for I realise that I have nothing but ghosts to keep me company. I have poured all my energy into righting this wrong but am left with nothing but the stale taste of defeat. I have no purpose anymore, no goal or direction. There is no beauty left in Italy, only in France where Christine is no doubt sharing her bed with her husband. There is no sense of triumph to carry me forward, giving me hope until I can find the next project to entertain myself with. Despair seems to lurk in every corner of the room, shaking me awake at night and suffocating me slowly. But when the girl enters it is like a ray of light, an anchor that I cling to for respite before the current drags me away once more.

* * *

"I've acquired some candles at the market today," she announces one day, making her way across the space, "I thought they might brighten up the room a little."

She stops every now and again, bends over to set a candle down before lighting it. Then she crouches down before me, offering her hand.

Habitually, I hold out my arm so she may feel my pulse.

"What day is it today?" I ask as well.

My voice sounds coarse and raspy because I haven't used it for such a long time.

"2nd September," she answers automatically while her fingers search my wrist.

She seems disconcerted to find me actively engaging with her.

"So many days…" I sigh and shift.

My spine has already grown weary of holding me upright.

"Is there perhaps a way I could wash myself?" I ask hesitantly.

I hate to appear desperate but the lack of personal hygiene has brought up many unpleasant memories.

She glances pensively at the pot I've relieved myself in, the one she's emptied and brought back every time without complaint, and finally she nods.

"Tonight I will bring you water."

"Thank you," I whisper and my arm shakes in her hand.

The magnitude of my feelings seems to catch her by surprise and she curiously seeks out my eyes. "This is not a prison."

"No," I press out a chuckle that's tainted with melancholy, "perhaps it isn't intended to be. But you'd be surprised how many people are imprisoned without walls to confine them."

She seems to mull this over and then tilts her head.

"Perhaps I wouldn't be surprised, Sir." She answers and I find my own melancholy in her smile. "Your pulse is still weak, you must rest more. I'll return tonight."

I watch her rise to her feet and leave the room without a second glance. But at least she has given me something new to ponder for the rest of the day.

* * *

The candles have burnt more than halfway down by the time she sets foot into the cellar again. She doesn't speak to me but places a large bowl of water in front of me.

"Let it cool down first," she instructs, already on her way back to the door, "I will fetch you some towels and fresh clothes in the meantime."

I hum to acknowledge her words and then hold my palms over the steaming bowl. Despite her warning, I soon dip a finger into the water and decide that it's reached a bearable temperature. I prefer doing this without spectators.

The girl looks caught between surprise and annoyance when she enters again and finds me in my undergarments on the mattress, beads of water still coating my skin.

"You're not of such interest to me, Sir." She quips and places a pile of towels and clothes into my outstretched hands.

"No doubt," I shrug, rubbing myself dry, "but there are certain comforts of privacy one only truly appreciates when they've been taken away previously."

She watches me curiously, clearly intrigued by my statement but averts her eyes when I make an effort to rise to my feet.

"Why don't you say what's on your mind, Signorina?" I ask.

I am trying to change clothes at the same time which proves to be embarrassingly challenging on my own.

"Because I don't want to encourage you in any way. You made that comment not by means of explanation, but to reel me in and I do not wish to spend more time with you than is absolutely necessary."

Her words sting my already wounded pride, especially in light of my recent realisation, but I refuse to let her notice.

"If that was true then surely you would've let me die."

She exhales exasperatedly and I quickly glance to make sure she hasn't turned around.

"I am certain even you can see the difference between the two. As I said before, I wasn't going to let you die. But that doesn't mean I wish to make your acquaintance either. You nearly killed me, Sir, you've blackmailed me and stalked me so believe me when I say that I've had enough of you to last me a lifetime."

I laugh sadly and lower myself back down on the mattress. "I suppose that's a plausible standpoint."

"Well thank God for that! Thank God it's plausible!" She mocks icily.

"I needed your assistance, Signorina," I start to explain but the impatience that colours my tone is only too obvious, "and I don't believe you would've given it willingly, had I asked you."

"Let's see," she turns around to face me now, "a masked man prowls around the house at night and asks for information that doesn't concern him."

"It does concern me!" I bellow, cutting her off but instantly my body punishes me with a series of violent coughs.

"How?" she demands, matching my volume. "As far as I can tell you're not Italian, so not related to any of the family members you've inquired about."

"There are things stronger than blood bonds, Signorina." I mutter quietly, looking at my hands that are, once more, covered in blood.

The girl remains quiet but I can feel her eyes on me.

"Was it you that killed her?"

"Who?" I ask but at the same time an icy cold settles over me and I know what she's about to answer.

"That girl…that youngest sister that fell off the balcony? Perhaps it wasn't an accident, perhaps it was you."

"What a vivid imagination you have." I taunt although bile rises from my stomach.

"Certainly I would not return after having committed such an atrocity."

"Perhaps there's a _plausible_ explanation, Sir." She comments with a thin smile. "After all, you very nearly killed me and yet here we are. You were pretty desperate to gain access to that information. Perhaps you wanted the house in the "rightful" hands so much because it would be a final way to assuage your guilt?"

Her assumptions are so close to the truth that I feel paralysed.

"I didn't mean to kill her…" I whisper quietly, "I should've repaired that balustrade, I should've just left."

In my head, the same old reel repeats itself and in my wretchedness I reach for her hands, hoping to find absolution if I confess my sins in this very spot.

"I had no choice, she cornered me, she needed to see and then she…she stumbled and fell. I should have prevented it. I should have refused. I murdered her, it is true, but I never meant to harm her, I never meant for this to happen!"

Her eyes meet me with disgust and pity.

"He was like a father to me…"

The words continue to spill forth without control until my body folds in on itself and the world starts fading to black once more.

She must think me utterly insane and yet I feel her presence until I completely succumb to the darkness.


	12. Chapter 11

Chapter 11: Anne, 1883

 

What a curious man he is! Overwhelmingly infuriating one minute and utterly intriguing the next. Yes, I am fascinated by him despite my words, but I am determined to keep that hidden lest it tilt the power balance between us if he knew.  
  
I do not know how I came to the conclusion that he was involved in the accident surrounding that girl but it was as if suddenly everything fell into place. I realised all at once that only a terrible tragedy could've inspired such slavish and passionate commitment on his part.

But how reckless I was to directly confront him with this. Despite his illness, I have no doubt that he could still kill when pushed too far, and in retrospect my assumption that he wouldn't harm me because I saved his life, seems a feeble one. Yet here I am, alive and well and by his side. Too much excitement seems to tire him quickly and I am concerned he might start fitting in his sleep.  
  
So I remain on the edge of the mattress, one hand on his shoulder, trying to piece together the shreds of information he has provided me with. He was involved in the accident that caused the girl to break her neck. He feels accountable yet begged me to understand that he never meant to harm her. Perhaps it was an accident, after all?

While my thumb brushes over his shoulder, I let the scene play out in front of my mind's eye. I picture a faceless girl backing up against the balustrade which crumbles and gives way, sending her tumbling down. I hear her screams and the sickening crunch as bone meets concrete. But why had she been backing away in the first place? He claims that she had cornered him and yet it had been her, falling to her death.

_She needed to see._

See what? Something he had been blackmailing her with as well? Or was it something that lay beneath the mask? Could it be that it wasn't simply an eccentric accessory but a means of hiding something truly hideous? How terrible would it have to be to send someone tumbling back and off a balcony?

Shaking off the thoughts, I lean in closely to check on his breathing and pulse and then make my way out of the cellar, clearing away the bowl of water and the towels he used. I feel unusually tired, as if all the secrets I'm keeping are weighing me down, but settle at my desk first to write. There are some tasks I've been neglecting while taking care of the stranger and I am nearly out of time.

* * *

 

Aurelio doesn't arrive the next morning and I am glad to see that I seem to have, indeed, convinced him of my ability to cope on my own for a day. Not that he would've accepted that but adding that I was planning to spend my time with Teodora seems to have done the trick.  
I wash and dress myself, then prepare some breakfast, half of which I wrap up for the stranger. He is still out of it when I make my way downstairs and so I serve him silently, swiftly wash his bloodied hands and depart.

I feel a mixture of trepidation and excitement at accompanying Teodora to another meeting today. The group of women she spends her time with couldn't be more different from the group that I surrounded myself with in England. They are all very spirited, aggressive even, and seem determined to bring about change by any means possible. While sceptical of me until the end, they embraced my stories of the printing press in England and even more so, my idea to construct one here to print our own pamphlets.

The only trouble is that in my need to make myself more desirable, I might have exaggerated my capabilities. I cannot build my own press, nor do I have the connections to acquire the parts that are necessary. I can only hope that they won't press me for information today but I have the feeling they're not the kind of people to let things like that pass lightly.

As I make my way across the courtyard, the warm sunshine comes as a welcome change, nourishing a part of me that seems to have wilted in the shade and confinement of the house. I am also aware of a certain power the masked stranger holds over me, a power that continues to linger even though he has ceased to be a threat to me. There is a heaviness that surrounds him, perhaps it is the weight of his own life's misery that taints me when I'm close to him or perhaps it is the tension that remains after our uneasy truce.

It's only when I spot Teodora waiting for me in front of her house that I feel myself relax.

"You look relieved," she greets me with a chuckle, "I'd expected you to be more at ease without your father around to pressure you."

I grimace and avert my eyes but do feel obligated to provide her with an answer.

"You'd be surprised by the kind of things going on in his absence." I mutter but become acutely aware that I sound just as provocatively mysterious as the masked man. How fortunate that he isn't around to call me out on it. "I really wish I could tell you more but at the moment that's not possible. Perhaps in future…" I add somewhat guiltily and she nudges me.

"I very much hope so."

Her smile is open and genuine still and as we make our way down the little alley, she links arms with me. I am more than just a little relieved to see I haven't scared her off yet.

"Does your husband know where you're going?" I inquire curiously and she nods.

"Yes, and he's very happy for me. I know Massima and a few of the other women wouldn't necessarily agree with me but I don't believe all men are innately against equality and progress and my husband is a prime example. He knows I am happy to take care of our house and family but he also knows I have other interests and allows me to explore them, whether they be deemed appropriate for my gender or not."

"You're very fortunate," I exclaim genuinely, "that's the kind of relationship I am hoping to find one day."

We cross a small piazza with a beautifully crafted fountain whose water I use to refresh my arms and neck. The heat of the sun has turned from comforting to merciless.

"So you've never considered a serious relationship with any of the men your father found for you?" Teodora asks with a playful grin and together we continue walking.

"No," I laugh, elbowing her, "not one of them. They are mostly dull. There's no spark there, no passion driving them and truth be told, some of them weren't particularly intelligent either."

"But they have money and social standing, I presume?" Teodora intersects and I nod.

"Yes, plenty of both and little expectations for me, other than to become a wife and mother."

"And neither of those options appeal to you?"

I hesitate and pluck at my dress, reluctant to answer.

"Every now and again it'll occur to me, usually when I feel lonely and sorry for myself," I chuckle and hope it'll lighten the mood, "and then I think that perhaps it might even be enjoyable but certain things are too late now in anyway."

"Don't sound so desolate. That's not like you at all." Teodora coaxes gently, wrapping an arm around my shoulder to draw me closer.

"You'd be surprised." I answer but leave it at that when I notice that we've arrived at the house.

It's a large villa with a sweeping staircase that leads to the entrance and two prominent campanili on either side. It is an heirloom that's been in the possession of Fiorentina's family for generations. And it is her who answers the door.

"Punctual as always," she quips, waving us inside, "the others have already assembled."

"Anne had a few more tasks to take care of now that her family is away." Teodora offers before I can say anything and Fiorentina breaks into a frown.

"I thought you had a butler?"

I detect the same disdain in her voice that I had heard upon our previous meeting.

"We do but he didn't need to be there today, I could just as well handle it myself."

She hums but gives me a look that's filled with disapproval. I resist commenting though because I know there is no way for me to win this argument. I have been judged for relying on a butler and now I will be judged for trying to do without him. But I do exchange a look with Teodora that conveys my annoyance. She rolls her eyes and shrugs and keeps on striding across the corridor after Fiorentina until we're finally reunited with the rest of the women.

Within seconds all eyes are on us but as quickly as their interest has surfaced, it leaves again. Massima and her cohort whisper conspiringly amongst themselves while Susanna, Constanza and some other women come to greet us at least. They hug Teodora warmly and embrace me with polite courtesy which is more than I can really hope for at this moment. We have just enough time to exchange a few pleasantries and pass around a tray with cool juice before Fiorentina calls the attention to her.

"I trust you're all well, my friends? Let us first discuss a few old and new items on the agenda and then have our usual reading."

Agreeable murmurs echo through the room and her face takes on a pleased expression.

"We have secured a huge victory in Testaccio where we can now legally display the pamphlets and posters sent to us from Milan."

Everyone erupts into cheers but I fail to muster the same level of enthusiasm. It's not that I am not thrilled but it is a small step forward at best and I am hesitant as to the impact this will really have. Besides, I have inspected one of the pamphlets they're circulating and can't say I entirely agree with their radical ideas and demands. But that opinion, especially, I keep to myself.

I am so engrossed in my contemplations that several minutes pass before I direct my attention to Fiorentina once more.

"Let us also not forget about more opportunities for work for women."

I narrow my eyes and try to focus on her which is made difficult by the fact that suddenly everyone starts talking over each other.

"Anne might be able to contribute something!" Teodora calls and for a second I am unable to link her words with my person but eventually they sink in.

"Contribute?" I frown, blinking at her.

But a hush has fallen over the room once more and the women have turned to face me.

"You mentioned last time that you have some experience working, did you not?" Massima chimes in too now, sounding disinterested.

"Well, I…"

"You mentioned it last time." Fiorentina repeats unnecessarily and I can tell that both of them are hoping to catch me out on a lie.

"I have worked a few hours in the field, yes. But I was dressed like a man and I didn't hold a firm contract."

"The chief grape picker knew you were a woman though, didn't he?" Teodora prompts encouragingly.

"He never admitted to it but I could tell. That's why I had to insist on my pay every time."

"No doubt," Constanza agrees seriously and several other women chime in, some of them whispering excitedly, others cursing heartily.

"Perhaps Anne could write about her experience in the next pamphlet?" Teodora suggests, raising her voice above all of them again.

My head snaps in her direction and with a great deal of effort I keep my mouth shut. I know she means well but I have never tried my hand at political statements or revolutionary opinion pieces, and quite frankly it's not something I am comfortable with.

"Why not?" Massima replies to my surprise. "Then she might as well churn it out using that printing press of hers. Wasn't she supposed to bring a sketch and a manual along today?"

"I have it here!" I cut her off sharply, rummaging in my satchel.

"Let me see," Fiorentina hums and walks over to take the papers off of me.

She examines them in silence for a moment, then passes them on to Massima.

"So? Are you up to the challenge?" she finally asks and despite the reluctance I feel inside I hear myself say: "Of course."


	13. Chapter 12

Chapter 12: Erik, 1883

I awake suddenly to the sensation of somebody shaking my body. Instinctively, my hand flies to my left, trying to locate the Punjab lasso in the folds of my cloak but it only meets cool, damp concrete. It is a startling revelation because it leaves me entirely defenceless.

I struggle upright and spot the cloak near a wall to my left, and slowly the memories start coming back. Despite our disagreement she has left my belongings untouched and even gone to lengths to keep me warm. This realisation elicits a strange feeling inside me that I can't quite place. It's uncomfortable but not unsettling while new and old at the same time. I seem to have experienced it before though I cannot get closer to it than that.

My body gets shaken again, but this time I am lucid enough to notice that it is doing so by its own accord and that I am still on my own in the cellar. It gets overwhelmed by wave after wave and I break into a cold sweat until my fresh shirt clings to my chest.

Withdrawal symptoms.

Once more I seem to have strayed from my opiates too long. Unfortunately, there's nothing I can do to alter the situation as I am still too weak to return to my camp and the riding bags that contain the accursed product.

Time eludes me as I stay trapped in this vortex of pain that's only measured by her absence. I wonder if she is punishing me on purpose but the plate of food by my side begs to differ.

When I grow numb to the physical sensations, my mind starts torturing me in its own repulsive way until I am helplessly writhing on the mattress. Regretfully, that is how she finds me when she finally makes an appearance.

Wordlessly she rushes into the room and pulls me into a sitting position once more.

"You're not fitting?" she then remarks in surprise and I chuckle.

"No, Signorina. You'll find I am the epitome of health."

She groans frustrated and jabs my side. "Perhaps if you had touched any of the food I had left you, you'd be feeling better now."

"Your attempts at keeping me alive are rather touching, Signorina." I mock and push myself away in order to create some distance between us.

"You know what?" she suddenly exclaims throwing her hands in the air. "Suit yourself! If you have such death wish, be my guest. Go right ahead but if you'd be so kind, don't do so on my premises. I have enough problems on my hands!"

"Problems?" I ask. "I find that hard to believe. You are a woman of comfortable standing with a family to support you. The only problems you have you've created for yourself."

Her nostrils flare angrily and I watch with awe and curiosity how she seems to grow in size in front of me.

"My standing, Sir, is built upon an unstable base that could crack beneath me at any moment. My family's support borders on tolerance at best and even that is fading with every year that goes by without me finding a suitable husband. And while you are correct in your observation that some of the problems I have created myself, I have taken those risks in hopes of providing myself with a future I deem more worthwhile. So quit acting like you know anything about me!"

"Brava, Signorina," I chuckle but she only gives a furious sound of annoyance and waves her hand dismissively at me.

"I won't waste any more time on you," she mutters, "I have a printing press to build."

"A printing press?" I call after her retreating form. "Are you trying to be part of the revolution, Signorina?"

"I bloody well will be once I figure out how to build the blasted thing."

"Perhaps I could be of assistance." I suggest and that stops her in her tracks.

"You? How?" she questions narrowing her eyes.

"I possess many skills that might surprise you, Signorina."

She scoffs but I can tell that I'm still holding her attention.

"I have built many things in my time and this should not pose too big of a problem."

"Why would you offer to help me though?" she frowns puzzled.

"You have saved my life," I reply simply, spreading my hands, "and as you've said before, I am indebted to you."

She hums and carefully takes a step closer. "But how do I know that you won't undermine me somehow?"

"Because, Signorina, I am not invested in political matters. The world will find its own corrupt way of running so I prefer to stay busy otherwise."

She lets my words sink in and fixes me with a searching look as if she's trying to determine the truthfulness of my statement.

"Fetch me paper and pencil and another candle and I shall show you." I offer impatiently but at last shake her out of her frozen state.

With a silent nod, she turns on her heels and leaves again, returning moments later with the items I've requested. She extends them to me and lights the candle but then makes sure to keep her distance. And in the flickering light I begin to sketch.

It does not require much effort on my part or focus and so I notice how curiosity convinces her to abandon her defences and stalk closer to my side.

"Your sketch differs greatly from mine. Are you are a scientist?" she asks curiously, peering over my shoulder.

"I have a knowledge of the workings of some machines that extends beyond the basics." I answer, setting the finished page aside before beginning work on a sketch of the inside of the press.

"Evidently," she hums in acknowledgement and reaches past me to pick up the outer drawing, "how very detailed! Are you an artist, too, Sir?"

I very nearly remind her of her emphatic refusal to make my acquaintance but somehow refrain from doing so. It has been too long since someone has shown genuine interest in my person, and her company provides enough of a distraction to silence the demons in my head. The physical symptoms of withdrawal will, no doubt, win the upper hand in time.

"I don't consider myself to be an artist, Signorina," I answer eventually, "but I am an architect and stone mason so sketching is a vital part of my skill set."

I feel her eyes shifting from the paper she's examining to my face and grip the pencil harder.

"An architect?" she echoes curiously. "You are not famous, are you?"

My lips curl into a bitter smile and for a moment, all my movements halt.

"You will find upon closer inspection that fame does not rely on talent and skill alone. And I, unfortunately, lack the appropriate physical appearance to make it far in that respect. But do not fear, Signorina," I interrupt before she can ask any absurd questions, "I have made my mark upon this world."

Perhaps it is the darkness she senses behind my words for she suddenly shivers and backs away. How amusing mankind's disgust and unwillingness of anything less than righteous can be. How easy it is for them to forget the atrocities their kind has committed since the dawn of time. And really, any deed however devious, can possess beauty when carried out skilfully.

"Have you built anything I would know?" she asks and I startle, had forgotten all about her for a second or at least expected her to have run away in terror.

I must say, her stubborn resolution to stay despite her unease, astounds me.

"I do not know how far your knowledge of the world extends," I shrug, "but I have built many monuments."

The tip of my pencil gives birth to an elaborate series of wheels and springs and my mind struggles against thoughts of my greatest creation that I, too, once nourished as if it was my child.

"I was taught the craft here as a young boy so it is possible that you'd be familiar with a few sites I have worked on. However, the face of the city changes frequently so perhaps my youthful achievements have long been erased."

"You are not contracting currently?" she asks carefully and I reply with a simple shake of the head. "Did you make the decision to stop or did your health prevent you from working further?" Before I can reply, she sighs deeply and heartfelt. "I could not imagine living like that. I am used to keeping my interests hidden or to be met by confusion when I do reveal them but my passion and desire drive me forward in spite of all that. I could not bear to stop."

Her outburst takes me by surprise and sparks an unbidden impulse to find out more about her.

"It is not my health that prevents me, Signorina," I explain quietly, focusing on a final annotation, "it's a decision I have come to. I have explored the playgrounds of architecture here in Italy, I have built palaces in Persia and bled myself dry creating a monument in Paris. I have done everything I could, given the chances I provided myself with. Now I am satiated."

I look over my shoulder to face her and notice that her eyes have widened. There is no doubt I have ignited more curiosity in her, but once more I have grown weary of social interaction and the pressure to be interesting. And so I pass on the papers without further comment. She accepts them, staying silent herself despite the amount of questions that surely are building up inside her this very second.

"Are these all the materials you require?" she asks eventually and I am grateful for the change of topic.

"Yes, I daresay those should be sufficient. Once you have collected them, I'll be able to start assembling the press."

"I collect them?" she suddenly asks perplexed.

"It is your undertaking, is it not?" I reply tiredly and lie down on my back.

"Yes, of course," she sighs, shifting towards the door, "I had just hoped you'd know where to find them as well."

"I do not have connections in that particular area and I am too exhausted to investigate for you."

"Don't concern yourself," she mutters and I hear her voice fading, "I shall find a way."


	14. Chapter 13

Chapter 13: Anne, 1883

I spend a sleepless night pouring over the sketches of the printing press he has drawn, struggling to devise a plan that will help acquire the material and tools that are needed. What's more, the closer I inspect his drawings, the more determined I become that even he won't succeed in assembling it within a week. And there _is_ only one week left until my family returns. Eventually though I reach the conclusion that there's nothing to be done about that and that we might as well start assembly as soon as possible. In the meantime I will come up with a solution. I hope. Tomorrow I shall overcome my pride and seek out Teodora. She's the only person close enough to resemble a friend and she's also the one who brought me into this predicament in the first place. Perhaps she'll have some idea where to collect the materials from.

* * *

As it turns out, asking Teodora for help was the best decision I could've made. She scanned the sketches and their annotations carefully and then assured me that she'd be able to retrieve some of the things herself or at the very least with help of her husband. Unfortunately, several days pass until she has accumulated enough to start work on the outer shell and the deadline of my family's return draws closer much quicker than I had hoped.

It is three days before their arrival that Teodora and her husband appear at the house for the handover. I have convinced Aurelio to stay away again and informed the masked man of their visit so that he may prepare himself to go to work soon after. Nonetheless, it is with a great deal of nervous energy that I welcome Teodora and her husband into the house.

They have piled the materials onto a small cart which they lug into the hallway and leave there for now. I thank them both profusely and eye her husband who has broken out in sweat. I can only imagine how heavy the cart must have been, not to mention the added heat of the sun.

"Would you like some refreshments? I've prepared some sandwiches and cool drinks." I offer with a smile and they both give a grateful nod.

While they take a seat in the sitting room, I head into the kitchen to put everything on a tray and by the time I return they seem to have made themselves comfortable enough.

"Thank you that's very kind," Teodora's husband smiles.

He has a quiet, calm demeanour and kind brown eyes that make him easily likeable.

"I am Lorenzo, by the way."

"Anne," I reply, extending my hand out of courtesy.

He takes it, gives it a light squeeze and then goes about demolishing one of my sandwiches.

"He's had a long day," Teodora chuckles, sipping at her juice, "so you think you'll be able to start building at least?"

"Yes, I'm sure it'll be enough to make a start." I lie.

Despite having studied the sketches thoroughly I can't claim to understand every aspect of the man's design.

"Then you know more than me," Lorenzo chuckles in between bites, "perhaps you should consider a change of career? From a grape picker to a factory worker or mechanic?"

"You give me too much credit," I laugh, "besides, I doubt that women would be able to hold positions in those fields any time soon."

"Well, hopefully your upcoming pamphlet will be somewhat of a step in the right direction….in terms of rectifying this situation." Teodora comments, her eyes twinkling playfully but I only manage a bitter chuckle.

"I doubt it. I have never written anything like that in my life and I am certain Massima and her friends will do anything in their power to undermine me."

"We won't let that happen." She winks. "And really, Anne, have more faith in yourself."

"What are you afraid of?" Lorenzo asks and I direct my eyes towards my hands.

"Failure, I suppose. This cause is very important and since I've been chosen to represent it, I can't afford to disappoint."

"Disappoint who?" he probes carefully while Teodora reprimands him by slapping his arm. "A group of strangers?"

"Yes," I sigh, "pathetic isn't it? But I suppose I'm so used to disappointing my family, I at least want to make someone else proud."

When I lift my head again the chuckle instantly dies on my lips.

"Is everything alright?" Teodora asks worriedly peering towards the spot my eyes have focused on.

My horrified facial expression regrettably doesn't seem to have escaped her.

"Yes!" I reply quickly and probably a little too eagerly but I am terrified that if she turns her head further in the direction of the door she, too, will spot the masked man hovering there.

I am not sure what I'm more shocked about. The fact that he purposefully seems to have made an appearance now – if his smirk is anything to go by – or the power he exudes now that he's on his feet. He really looks deceptively healthy.

"I just can't believe that bit about my family slipped out… _again_." I continue, forcing a smile. "Surely you're sick of it by now."

"Oh stop apologising!" Teodora replies firmly and I breathe a sigh of relief when she reaches for a sandwich.

My explanation seems to have appeased her sufficiently. When I am certain that her attention is momentarily directed elsewhere I look back at the door but he has disappeared. Nonetheless I continue to feel his presence, and the rest of the meeting with Teodora and Lorenzo becomes a chore, filled with nervous glances and lack of focus.

* * *

"What were you thinking?" I confront him later on in the cellar.

He is reclining comfortably on the mattress, my father's shirt hanging loosely on his lean frame.

"Signorina?" he asks innocently but I can see the mirth dancing in his amber eyes.

"Yes! I've told you to stay in the cellar." I hiss.

"But I was under the impression that I was not imprisoned here, Anne." He answers innocently and it is only when I realise that he has addressed me by my name for the first time that I stop and pause.

Whatever annoyance I felt for him a minute ago is suddenly wiped out by the mere sound of his voice. It seems to caress my name, coaxing my body into a sigh that I didn't realise I'd been holding. When I was younger I'd always considered my name much too short and mundane but he bestows such richness to it that it suddenly comes alive. When that strange sensation finally passes, I realise that he seems to be aware of his power, for the corners of his mouth have curled upwards.

I am not certain yet how to feel about this sudden playful mood of his.

"Yet you are an intelligent man and I had assumed you knew when to stay hidden."

"I merely examined the material. I wanted to make sure that you weren't being taken advantage of." He offers, spreading his hands diplomatically and I chuckle.

"So that's why I found you listening near the door rather than hovering near the cart?"

It's almost amusing to watch him struggle to prevent his lips from twitching into a grin.

"You suppose you are that interesting to me?" he asks.

"Apparently," I shrug, "and now that you know my name, it's only polite if you tell me yours."

Instead of supplying me with yet another teasing retort, the amusement in his eyes diminishes. Suddenly he ages, grows weary in front of me and it is with extraordinary simplicity that he finally says: "Erik."

There is something so poignant about the way he confesses it that my heart instantly aches. What must have happened to him that a mere question for his name can cause him such agony?

"Thank you," I reply softly, hoping that my words will sooth him somehow.

But he only nods and inadvertently traps us in a heavy silence.

"Were the materials to your liking then?" I carefully question after a while.

His eyes are dim and unfocused still and it takes him a while to process my question.

"Yes," he finally responds in a voice that doesn't seem to be his own, "that is to say they are of good enough quality for your undertaking. But they're not complete yet, are they?"

"No," I sigh, running a hand through my hair, "that's all they could get for me. All of the little parts you require, the cylinders and such are much too expensive. I haven't figured out yet where to get them from."

"But they could help you, if you had more money?" he questions.

"Yes, I suppose they could. But there's no way I could amass that kind of sum."

"Fetch me pen and paper and I shall see it done."

"No, Erik," I interrupt when I realise the extent of his offer, "that's too much."

"They are only material goods, Signorina and I have sufficient funds. We shan't waste another minute debating the matter." He cuts me off firmly. "Go and do as you're told."

And yet again I find myself following his instructions and trudging around the house like an errand boy. But while I collect the items he's requested it occurs to me that perhaps he didn't give the order out of practicality alone, perhaps it also offered him a way to compose himself in my absence. I might not know very much about him but I have come to realise that he possesses a great deal of pride and I shall grant him that.

When I return to him, not only carrying pen and paper but also a fresh candle, he is indeed sitting up straighter once more.

"I shall require more than that if you'll have me build in this cellar." He points out, takes the candle and lights it near his mattress.

"I will bring more." I reassure him with a hint of impatience. "I just figured with the equipment being so heavy it would be wise to assemble it here where it'll remain permanently."

"Yes, I suppose that's true." He inclines his head and extends his hand for the paper and pen I'm still holding. "Won't your family wonder how it appeared here?"

"Perhaps," I shrug, "but it'd be doubtful they'd ever stumble across it. They don't frequent this place. If Aurelio noticed it, he would never tell and mother? Well, she'd hardly even know what it was."

"And you already have your father's disapproval," he suddenly comments.

I become aware that he is watching me with curiosity now as if he's trying to gage my reaction.

"Indeed." I nod but refuse to offer more information.

If he wishes to find out more he can ask me directly or eavesdrop again. He accepts my answer with a non-committal hum and then starts writing the letter.

"This will take some time, unfortunately," he says in the meantime, "my correspondent is in France. Perhaps you could persuade your friends to invest their money already so we can continue building. Have no doubts, they shall receive the sum back in full."

"I shall take your word for it." I say, momentarily wondering how I've manoeuvred myself into a position where I am asked to write political statements and place a great deal of trust into a stranger that's tried to kill me.


	15. Chapter 14

Chapter 14: Erik, 1883

I send her off with the letter to find a courier that same day. She obliges without a word of objection which is an indication, I suppose, of how dedicated she is to this endeavour. But in her absence, silence infiltrates the cellar like poison and counteracts the treacherous burst of energy I have felt all day. I should have known that it was too good to last. How foolish of me to hope that the promise of this project would be enough to appease the demons. Yet Mother Nature wins again. Hope shall be the downfall of the wretched.

The candle the girl…Anne…has left me with flickers and throws looming shadows against the walls. And in accordance with their rhythm, my body begins to writhe. I shake and groan, soiling myself with blood. Every sound is uglier than the next and the punishment only comes to a halt when I am reduced to nothing but a shivering wreck. I do not even possess enough strength to reach for the glass of water that is by my side.

How pitiful I must look when she returns.

I cannot turn my body to face her but hear her footsteps come to a sudden standstill and then the gasp, that single sound that's enough to rob me of my dignity. I do not wish to die like this, or suffer through any more attacks that render me utterly helpless and force me to be on display in such humiliating fashion. When she finally comes into focus I can see how pale she has become, how her face has morphed into a grimace of shock. It is the blood, no doubt, it tends to have that effect on people.

"Don't concern yourself," I try to say although I produce nothing more than a hoarse whisper, "I shall endure long enough to keep my promise."

"Don't talk, save your strength." She instructs and I admire her ability to create even-sounding words despite the panic that has her eyes darting over my stained blanket and clothing. "Will you be alright for a moment? I shall bring you some water and a fresh attire."

I nod wordlessly as per her request and close my eyes when I hear her leave. For a moment the world fades into blissful darkness. No pressure behind my lids, no constraining force on my lungs. Just peace.

* * *

Something warm and comforting coaxes me back to consciousness. It is unidentifiable but so very soothing I want to weep. Instead, however, I force myself to gain control over the unwanted prickling tears and open my eyes to orientate myself.

Anne is sitting on the mattress with me and in her hand there's what appears to be a wash cloth. She slides it over my body that is largely exposed, as I realise with a start, then stills her movement and lowers the cloth into a bowl of water. Her touch sends my senses reeling, sparking feelings in me that I had not known before. I drink them in, devour them whole until I am satiated and fulfilled. No-one before her has voluntarily extended their touch to me, no-one has spoilt me quite like that. What a privilege it is, what a gift to have been granted it without fear or hesitation. How desperately unworthy I am.

"What is causing all the blood?" she suddenly asks, seems to have noticed me stirring.

"A combination of habits, I'm afraid and a rather unsavoury encounter in Persia." I answer and try to sit up straighter.

Now that she knows I am awake the intimacy of her gesture feels unsettling. I must not let foolish yearnings cloud my judgement.

"What habits are those?" she probes, washing the length of my arm with the cloth.

"Surely you can see for yourself," I shrug, following her movements with my eyes.

"Which drugs?" she clarifies, examining the needle pricks that riddle my skin.

"Opium mostly," I answer, observing her face to see her reaction but not a simple thing betrays her.

"What else?" she challenges.

"Nothing," I sigh, "there must be traces of dust in my lungs from my work as a stone mason…and perhaps some remnants of glass."

"Glass?" her eyes widen and she tilts her head in my direction. "Whatever happened to you in Persia?"

"Many things," I offer, "most of them involving powerful enemies."

She quickly makes the connection and winces. "How awful! What kind of a coward would do such a thing? I suppose you're lucky to be alive."

"That, Signorina, depends on your interpretation of the word." I sigh.

"Well, we can debate that later," she comments cheerfully, "I've asked you to be quiet and then prompted you to tell a story. I shan't jeopardise your health any further. Please, save your voice and rest."

She drops the cloth into the water bowl and hands me the fresh clothes.

"I must begin work on the press today," I insist while dressing myself, "if it pleases you I will not speak but I must remain occupied."

She opens her mouth as if it to argue but the fierce intensity in my eyes stops her.

"As you wish," she sighs reluctantly and gets to her feet.

She drapes my stained clothes as well as the blanket over the crook of her arm and then bends down to pick up the water bowl.

"I shall just put these away and then I'll meet you at the top of the stairs. I will require some help lugging that cart down here."

She disappears without waiting for a reply and I follow suit once I have collected enough strength.

The undertaking demands some time and an amount of energy I do not possess but eventually we assemble everything in the cellar. While Anne sets out to collect more candles, I begin my work. With some difficulty I bend the materials into the right shapes but it feels invigorating to have a purpose again. Within minutes I become so engrossed that I barely notice her return or the sudden increase in light.

"My family will arrive in a few days' time." She speaks up later on and I nod without diverting my attention. "Which means you cannot stay here. It's much too risky."

"We cannot move the machine." I say simply and she sighs.

"I know, it's too heavy to shift. Do you think you'll be able to return here certain nights and work quietly while they are asleep?"

At this I look up and face her. "That depends on the stage of assembly we're at. Otherwise I could come here when your father is at work? If you keep your mother and sisters occupied I could make progress in the meantime."

"Yes, I suppose that's a good idea." She agrees. "I won't let them stop me."

The determination with which she utters this phrase is almost endearing.


	16. Chapter 15

Chapter 15: Anne, 1883

Erik's dedication to my cause astounds me. He really is a man of extremes. Fatigued and near the end of his life one moment, revitalised and fixated the next. How he does it or what enables these bursts of energy I do not know.

After I greet Aurelio the next morning and share with him the appropriate details of my past day, I make my way down to the cellar where I find Erik already working. When I left him last night he was still busy, and I wonder now if he has allowed himself any rest at all.

"We have company, I hear?" he greets me once I have closed the door.

He has abandoned the softness of the mattress and is kneeling on the ground, his shirt sleeves rolled up, trying to screw together a part of the contraption he has already assembled.

"Yes, Aurelio has returned. There are only so many excuses I can deliver before he gets suspicious."

He hums in response and there is a note of disapproval that irks me.

"What?" I snap a bit harsher than intended and sink down on the mattress.

"Perhaps you should consider creating a greater catalogue of reasons if you want me to proceed once your family has returned. It would be ludicrous to postpone my work simply because you lack imagination."

His words sting me and I push myself forward so that I am invading his personal space.

"And why is that? You don't strike me as someone who currently has anything better to do."

He lifts up his head and his eyes seem to glimmer in the dark. "I have upset you, forgive me. But you really must learn not to take my words to heart. I merely meant that it would be silly to waste time thanks to a minor flaw in the plan that could've easily been rectified."

"You have a funny way of expressing that," I mutter and rock back on my heels until my butt rests on the mattress once more.

"I just assumed you were more…robust than some of the women I've previously made acquaintance with." He offers by means of explanation but his focus already solely rests on the project in front of him again.

"Robust?" I repeat, turning the word over in my mouth. "That's not the worst comment I've ever received."

"It was a compliment."

Despite my 30 years and my usual reservations towards men's flattery, I find myself flooded with the urge to giggle. It's like a spark, a tingle; something akin to euphoria that takes me completely by surprise.

"Do you frequently compliment women, Erik?" I tease him playfully and realise only too late that my remark might anger him in its carelessness.

After all, I have a good idea of what lies beneath his mask and should consequently have assumed that his interactions with women weren't necessarily triumphant.

His eyes are burning when he directs them to me and I detect a rumble of thunder when he simply replies: "No."

I am holding my breath and yet when the candle in front of him flickers, I spot a hint of red that's tinting his ears. It's an intriguing observation but not one I dare to pursue momentarily while our relationship still hangs in the balance. It could have just been a trick of the light.

"Your voice sounds better today," I say instead, hoping to shift the conversation away from any clumsy misunderstandings, "have you been coughing up any more blood?"

"Nothing last night." He answers, lifting his construct closer to his face to examine it.

"That's good, though surely it won't be the last fit of withdrawal."

"No," he hums softly, "unfortunately those last quite long."

I let him work in silence for a while until I am certain that the last waves of potential anger have ebbed away. Then I broach the subject that has captured my curiosity since yesterday.

"Do you think there's still some glass lodged in there?"

"Mmh?" he hums and I can see he's completely lost in thought. It's a miracle he has registered my voice at all.

"You mentioned an incident in Persia yesterday and I was just wondering if some of that glass is still lodged in your throat."

"Possibly," he shrugs, "though if it is, it'd be a miracle I'm still alive."

"How did you survive it in the first place? I mean, surely it must have torn your throat open."

"Yes, it was rather unpleasant." He comments simply and I am astounded that he can speak of something so serious so lightly.

"Who did this to you? You mentioned powerful enemies." I inquire further.

"The Grand Vizier Mirza Taqui Khan, a scrupulous and uncivilised man."

He pronounces his name with such venom that the hairs at the back of my neck stand on end. God only knows what dark actions have passed between them.

"If you wouldn't mind, Erik, could you tell me more about your time in Persia? It sounds gruelling but I'm nonetheless intrigued." I confess breathlessly and when he turns to look at me, his eyes have taken on a much softer expression than I had expected.

"You have not travelled much?" he asks although there is a certainty in his voice that begs no answer.

"No," I sigh, "father hasn't always been in such a wealthy position. He was a miner near Bristol who was smart enough to keep an eye on the economy and changed careers at the right time. Nonetheless, accumulation of money took its time and as a woman and his oldest daughter I certainly wasn't allowed to travel on my own. And then father's business declined again and well, here we are."

"Your prison…"

His focus is still resting solely on me, although his hands have continued working on their own accord. He seems to understand, and the knowledge of that touches something inside me that's been buried for the longest time. And once more I feel warmth spread through my chest. Is this what it's like to be seen? Really seen?

"Yes," I finally confirm nonchalantly though I am certain he must notice the emotion that's making my voice tremble. "We've visited France before and gone to a few cities in Wales but nothing more."

"Which explains your desire to sneak out of the house. Italy is a novelty and beckoned to be explored." He comments and his eyes sparkle mischievously.

"Does the mysterious specter finally admit that I wasn't, in fact, committing any inappropriate acts?" I tease him back and he chuckles.

The sound is unlike anything I have heard him produce before, filled with levity and childlike amusement and at last devoid of bitterness or anger.

"I suppose that would depend on what you deem an inappropriate act, Signorina." He remarks and now it is my turn to chuckle.

"Oh Erik, you're terrible! Rest assured my virtue is still intact…more or less, at least." Undoubtedly, I sound like a woman half my age. "And whatever improper acts I may have committed, I did so long in the past. Italian men aren't entirely to my taste whereas the British are much less complicated."

His eyes swiftly dart away and he shifts on his spot almost uncomfortably. His hands, that have been so expertly handling the material, suddenly turn clumsy and nervous. Several times he opens his mouth to start a sentence but cuts himself off before a single word slips out.

"I have made you uneasy, forgive me." I say, trying desperately to ban the last chuckle from my tone. "I am much too forthcoming sometimes. It is one of the reasons I don't consider myself fit to be a wife."

"I don't see how the two are related," he shrugs, still avoiding eye contact, "surely there must be men out there who are quite taken with your spirit. You're not altogether unpleasant to look at either."

"There you go complimenting me again." I laugh, unable to stop myself.

"Don't!" he suddenly hisses and his fury suffocates another bout of laughter. "I do not wish to be ridiculed."

"Now really," I sigh and echo his earlier phrase, "You shouldn't take my words to heart. If you tease me, I shall tease you back. But I do apologise if I have hurt your feelings."

He mumbles something inaudibly and forcefully shoves a metal bar into the hole of another one.

"Will you tell me more about Persia, please?" I carefully try a while later. "I'd really love to hear more. It sounds fascinating!"

My pleading words seem to satisfy his ego sufficiently for his shoulders visibly relax and he nods slowly.

"If you are expecting an adventurous tale you are not entirely mistaken. However, should you be hoping for a tale about the rosy days of Mazandaran, I shan't be able to oblige. Experience has tainted my memories of that particular part of my life and I don't feel the need to alter the details for your benefit."

I am slightly taken aback by this warning preface he has given but only shrug my shoulders. "I never said that I wanted to hear an edited version. You mustn't sugar-coat it; that would tarnish the truthfulness of the tale. I am merely curious."

Once again he seems satisfied by my answer and settles into a steady building rhythm.

"I was a young man when the Shah summoned me to court. I had made a name for myself as a skilled magician and word travelled far and wide. I cannot recall the number of messengers and ambassadors that suddenly sought out my performances, only to offer one grand proposal after the other."

He shares this with me in a cold, detached tone and yet I cannot shake the impression that he was, in fact, rather flattered by the attention.

"I was celebrating great successes at the fair of Nizhny-Novgorod when an impudent little man entered my tent. At first I assumed he was there to watch the performance which, unfortunately for him, had already taken place earlier that day. He stared at me with all the awe and undisguised curiosity mankind so frequently likes to engage in and only seemed to realise a while later that he was, in fact, confronted with a living, breathing person and not an automaton created to perform upon request."

His voice takes on such a dark shade that I secretly begin to grow concerned about the other man's fate.

"I was forced to inform him that he was late for the performance which at last seemed to rattle him awake since he suddenly began mumbling in broken Russian about a summons to the court of Mazandaran. He was the chief of police, you see, unfortunate enough to be tasked with this journey. I swiftly switched to his native language, hoping to move this meeting along and send him home as I had done with all the other fools."

"What changed your mind?" I interrupt him and four shrill sounds pass as he affixes another part of metal with a screw.

Only when he is pleased with the outcome does he answer my question.

"Some imprudent sense of opportunity, I suppose. He promised me wealth, which I already possessed, and power, which I yearned for. I had long since learned that even a disrespected member of society such as myself could become feared and influential when in possession of enough of it. I knew that it would not last but youthful naiveté and exuberance meant I was more than willing to savour it however long that might be. So I agreed and we started the strenuous journey to Persia which was nearly enough to make me regret my decision. We left Nizhny-Novgorod on the same day the great fair ended and my companion chose an unfortunate mode of travel: by boat. We were herded together like animals, smells and sounds mingling together most unpleasantly in the belly of the beast. Progress was dreadfully slow and by the time we'd reached Kazan I'd had enough. I led my horses off this stinking tin and began fastening my possessions to their saddles. Daroga eventually spotted me. He had never possessed a great deal of perception, had viewed the sleight of hand I had allowed him to witness like another great feat of magic and so I was almost surprised that he noticed the absence of this most-priced product he was supposed to deliver to Persia. I was under no delusion where that was concerned. There was a part of me that even hated him for spotting me. Had he not, I would have continued by myself along a different route, no doubt finding another city worth exploring."

I am aware that I am following his tale breathlessly. I have even scooted closer to the edge of the mattress and my nails are buried into the fabric of my dress in suspense. All that exists is his voice that weaves itself around me, diverting my focus from anything else in the present.

"The buffoon tried to argue with me, promised me more luxury but eventually realised that he could not sway me and so we continued by land, following the shore of the Caspian Sea. The journey was treacherous yet far more pleasurable thanks to the privacy I had granted myself. But for the daroga, the journey suddenly became far more dangerous for he contracted a life-threatening infection of the lungs of which he failed to notify me until it was almost too late. Fortunately, I had the right ingredients to prepare an infusion for him."

"You saved his life?" I ask amazed and he chuckles lightly.

"I daresay it is possible."

What strikes me as remarkable, he seems to not even consider extraordinary.

"And what about bandits?" I interrupt him before he can continue his tale. "I've read that there are several of them hiding out inland, ready to pounce on ignorant travellers."

He remains unexpectedly silent and lifts his head to eye the door of the cellar pensively. For a moment or two he resembles a guard dog who has sniffed out a trespasser but then he inclines his head and answers: "Indeed. There were several but they were easy enough to dispose of."

I frown and let my eyes slide back from the door and towards his frame to watch him closely. It is difficult to read his expression with the mask covering his face, but he seems completely indifferent.

"You murdered them?"

"Yes." He answers simply and despite the gruelling topic I find myself chuckling.

"Murder seems to affect you far less than being stuck on a boat with other people."

"It is simple enough to strangle someone and be rid of them, Signorina," he explains almost softly, "but try shedding the eyes of the curious or the piercing dissonance of their penetrating whispers."

There is a loud screeching sound that I first attribute to another piece of metal but that finally jars me out of my reverie.

"Is it indeed?" another voice asks and I am shocked to find Aurelio standing in the doorway.


	17. Chapter 16

Chapter 16: Erik, 1883

I had heard the blistering idiot before he chose to make his dramatic entrance. He'd made his way down to the cellar with all the grace and subtlety of a steam locomotive. Of course, I could have notified Anne or chosen less provocative words but I confess, I was curious as to how he'd react.

As I am watching him now, he is still positioned in the doorway, trying desperately to acquire a powerful air but his body only oozes uncertainty and fear.

"I have just received a correspondence from your father, Signorina," he at last speaks and I take this as my cue to continue working, "your sisters have been successful and a match has been made. He, therefore, expects them all to arrive back here tomorrow morning. I wanted to inform you of this but couldn't locate you until I heard sounds and voices coming from the cellar."

"What fine hearing those in service tend to have." I mock and at once he appears to blow himself up to an almost respectable size.

"You, Signore, are a scoundrel and a murderer! How dare you entertain a young lady with such horrifying stories?"

"She begged me to," I shrug nonchalantly, "and who am I to deny a lady?"

He splutters and puffs irately and as his eyes land on the mattress and the abandoned remains of my former attire he suddenly turns a whole shade whiter.

"Anne, you should know better than to lock yourself away in a cellar with a man like this. What would your father say? How ashamed would he be if word got out? You know how the maids at the market like to gossip."

"Aurelio!" she exclaims, sounding offended. "Our relationship is purely professional. Nothing indecent has taken place nor will it ever."

"I can vouch for that," I nod seriously, setting the half-finished outer shell of the press down on the ground, "her virtue is as tainted as it was when she arrived here from England."

They both gasp in unison and Anne turns to face me with such fury in her eyes that I cannot help but chuckle.

"If he's upsetting you, Signorina, I am happy to accompany him out." The servant offers quickly but she shakes her head. Instead of giving up his pursuit, however, he approaches her, cradling her hands in his wrinkled ones. "If he has anything to do with the man that was causing you trouble. If he's blackmailing you, please, let me help you."

What an interesting turn of events this is! So the little wench had betrayed me, had broken her promise not to involve anyone else. Anger is throbbing its familiar beat beneath my wrists and the worried glance she throws in my direction only serves to aggravate me further.

"I am fine, Aurelio," she stammers, "he was just helping me, actually."

"And befouling your mind with gruesome stories no young lady should ever be exposed to! Only a monster would take pleasure in blemishing you like that!"

The sound of blood is roaring in my ears now.

"I advise you to watch your tongue, Signore." I growl, rising smoothly to my feet and stalking over to my cloak where the rope of catgut welcomes my hand like an old friend.

Something is blinding me, drowning out all other sounds and sights than the man that is now struggling to get away from me. I can see his lips move, can make out the filthy threats and expletives his mouth is forming while the rope shapes itself into a noose. He stumbles backwards, tries to find the handle of the door to pull himself upright, and I am hoping he will run because my body is craving the satisfaction of hunting him down and silencing him forever just when fresh hope has started to bloom in his eyes.

One step.

Another.

"Come come now, my spirited friend. Find your balance. It shan't be much of a chase otherwise." I drink in his whimpers and take another step closer when suddenly something hard and unexpected collides with my face.

My mask bites itself painfully into my flesh and I cry out in anger, whirling around to find the source of the attack. It's right in front of me; all few centimetres of her tiny frame, her hand still in mid-air.

"Don't you dare take another step! Aurelio helped me, he caught me when I was going through father's documents but he didn't say a word. Without him you wouldn't have got the information you needed."

"You expect me to fall on my knees with gratitude?" I hiss and with every angry breath, my chest expands against hers.

"Did I say that?" she demands in return, her volume matching mine. "I won't let you kill a man who has been nothing but kind to me and who has inadvertently helped you."

The fire in her eyes slowly diminishes and as she rests her hands on my chest she continues much quieter: "Please, Erik, don't harm him. I will see him upstairs and explain as much as I can. I should've been truthful since the beginning."

The rush of blood subsides and is replaced with a high-pitched whistling sound in my ear. How cruel a God He must be to make yet another woman beg me for mercy in this fashion.

_What do you want? Erik, please…tell me what you want._

I can feel Christine's small hands on my torso, her lips on mine, begging me to teach her, to guide her when there is nothing a poor fool like me can hope to offer.

"Go!" I yelp in pain. "Take him out of my sight."

And I stumble away from her touch that seems to singe my skin. Her eyes widen with concern but in the dimly-lit room their colour seems to change from green to brown continuously. Past and present swim together as the woman I once considered my angel, comes to haunt me like a demon. Her voice echoes from the walls and drives me into a corner where I finally find some respite.

"Please…" I whimper, covering my head with my arms.

There are voices in the distance and shreds of conversation pervading my consciousness yet I am utterly unable to distinguish what part of my history they belong to. The cellar is filled with spirits trying to beckon me and the fiercer I try to shut them out, the more volatile they become.

"Erik…"

A soft voice filled with pristine clarity.

I shake my head, allow my body to fold in on itself.

"Erik!"

Once more, but this time in a lower voice. More demanding.

"I have talked to Aurelio, he shan't be a bother anymore."

Her fingers reach through the cracks of my cage and pry my arms loose.

"If you are suffering another fit, that's not an appropriate position," she advises me with professional detachment, "and if you're suffering from withdrawal symptoms again, I don't suppose solitude will be helpful either."

She is desperately trying to appear in control which, I suppose, is commendable. The anger that was crackling around her a moment ago is gone but nonetheless, an air of annoyance lingers.

With a great deal of willpower, I draw myself to my feet and tower over her. "Is this position satisfactory?"

"Yes," she agrees, unblinking, holding her ground.

There is something else she seems to want to say to me but can't quite bring herself to.

"It appears our working arrangement will be disrupted prematurely?"

"Yes," Her shoulders sag and she slinks away and wanders the length of the cellar, "how inconvenient."

"I suppose you'll want me to leave as soon as possible?"

"It's not a question of what I want but what's, unfortunately, a necessity. I had hoped we'd have at least another day together…maybe two."

Her genuine disappointment is almost touching and yet I find myself collecting my clothes and belongings. After all, there's no need crying over spilled milk.

"Where shall you go now? Will you be alright in your condition?" she inquires meekly and I chuckle bitterly.

"Please, Signorina, save yourself the trouble. I've already promised you to finish your project. Let us not pretend you are concerned about anything beyond that."

"There is no point in arguing with you now," she mutters, "you wouldn't believe me, no matter what I said."

I don my cloak and hat wordlessly and make my way towards the door, at once feeling removed from mankind.

"Keep the press and its loose parts safe. Wrap them in dry sheets if you can. I shall return at nightfall in three days' time. You know where to find me."

And with my back towards her, I start my ascent to the world I had almost forgotten about. My chest is still heavy with pain but somehow I fail to convince myself that this is simply due to a nostalgic attachment to a place I'd once called my home.


	18. Chapter 17

Chapter 17: Anne, 1883

I hate to admit it, but without Erik's presence I feel a little lost all of a sudden. It's as if the entire energy in the house has changed. I can't quite put my finger on what's precisely been altered by his absence but something has altogether disappeared.

While he was under the same roof, it was as if the house was filled with excitement and adventure and in turn I grew to be more than just a mundane woman. Despite the terror and hatred I felt towards him in the beginning, I feel that now, at the end, we met as mutuals and I shall miss the respect with which he addressed me at times. Of course, his nature remains unpredictable. I'd be a fool to deny that but there's something utterly exhilarating about being with a man who constantly keeps you on your toes.

Perhaps it is also the prospect of my family's return that fills me with dread for I shall be reduced once again to nothing more than a cog in the greater system, created solely to fulfil a function. What's worse, with my sisters' triumph there will, no doubt, be more remarks flung my way. I shall never hope to achieve what they have and comparisons will forever be drawn between the three of us. Surely, father is already picturing me as a lonely spinster, unable to provide for herself. And he isn't entirely wrong, not unless this pamphlet I am about to write will yield any results.

The silence in my room suddenly turns deafening and the stuffy heat seems to suffocate me. Swinging my legs over the side of the bed, I pull myself up and make my way to the window. I open it and allow the soft breeze to cool my skin, while my eyes involuntarily sweep towards the wall in whose shadow Erik used to hide. I know that he isn't there, that he won't be there for another three days and yet I wish he was, if only to calm my mind and distract me with one of his remarkable stories.

I sit down at my desk and try to focus my thoughts on the pamphlet but after a couple of successful lines, the letters seem to decay on the page before the ink has even dried. Where once I was more than capable of breathing life into phrases and paragraphs, everything now seems rigid and empty. I try to think back to my experiences on the field, to the rage that I felt when the chief grape picker denied me my wage and that piece of narrative flows, at least. The rest, unfortunately, remains as dull as it was before.

And that's when I know I'm in trouble.

This pamphlet cannot simply contain a couple of anecdotes one might find in a newspaper. This pamphlet must be written in a manner that will ignite strong emotions in the people investing their time in it, it must rouse them to action and it appears I am woefully unqualified to do so. But I have to try and try I do while hour after hour slips away until I finally realise that my thoughts have abandoned the subject long ago. Instead they have started to cling to Erik's tale, forming images to his descriptions of the countries, locations and people. They circle around the fair he had mentioned, the one at which he was employed as a skilled magician or around the boat which he had to share with too many others.

And before I notice what has happened, my pencil has drawn a line under the political document and begun constructing a description of the man he was then. I use pieces of the account he has given and fill in the blanks with my own imagination. At last, I can clearly see him before me, younger but just as lean and tall, exuding the same powerful air, wrapped in a jewel studded cloak that catches the light whenever he turns or engages in a grand gesture. I picture him standing in the middle of a large tent that smells of spices and incense which is enough to set it apart from all the other shabby tents in the vicinity. I can see an adoring audience sitting cross-legged at his feet, gaping up at him, wondering if he is more than just a man. They cling to his every word, are almost in a trance-like state and when at last, his performance is over, they spill out into the streets like a herd of disoriented sheep right after a thunderstorm. When the tent is finally deserted, he relinquishes his cloak and with it his powerful façade. Without it, he wearily sinks to his knees and removes the mask.

My pencil stops moving at that point as if met by an invisible barrier and it is only then that I truly realise what's written on the page before me. I am not sure why I've thought he would discard his mask, perhaps it is a simple way of describing his tiredness, just like another man might abandon his glasses. But there is a line there that I evidently daren't yet cross, not even in writing. Whenever my mind attempts to envisage the face that lies beneath the mask, an unseen force blurs it all until I can only see his amber eyes, those glowing orbs piercing the dark mist that's clouding my brain.

* * *

The next thing I perceive is a loud rapping sound at my door. The surprise rips a gasp from my lips and my head jerks up in a sharp movement I instantly regret. For another second or so I am disorientated and caught between night and day, but the soft sunlight that's filtering in through the open window allays my confusion.

"Signorina, are you alright?" I hear Aurelio's voice which is laced with more concern than usual.

Or perhaps that's just my imagination.

"Yes." I call back while trying to tame the bushy mass of hair that's unfurled itself from the braids which previously held it.

When I am satisfied that my appearance can be deemed acceptable, I stride across the room to open the door.

"Your family shall arrive shortly," he informs me and the way his eyes scan my body before peering into the corners of my room doesn't escape me.

He was so shaken after his encounter with Erik that he, no doubt, would have agreed to any terms I'd presented him with. But now that the threat to his life is no longer imminent, I can see his disapproval in every gesture. He is loyal enough to keep my secret but something is undeniably broken between us. The respect and warmth with which he once regarded me has been replaced by cool detachment. He is still concerned about my well-being but his distaste for my decisions seems to override everything else. The disappointment in his eyes is painfully familiar…

"I overslept so I am grateful you woke me just now." I reply. "I shall freshen up and dress myself. Don't worry, I will be in the courtyard in time to greet them."

"Very well," he nods and retreats stiffly down the corridor.

Releasing a heavy sigh I turn back towards my room and lock my writings away in a drawer. Then I wash myself, form my hair into a loose French braid again and pick a dress my family will approve of. I simply do not have the energy for arguments today.

I have barely inhaled the coffee Aurelio has left me on the balcony when the sound of hooves indicates my family's arrival. A moment later a gilded carriage pulls into the courtyard. Whoever the men are who have agreed to marry my sisters, they certainly seem to possess money.

Trying my hand at a more enthusiastic smile, I make my way downstairs where Joanne and Claire fling themselves into my arms. The columned archway is at once filled with chatter which increases in volume as the two of them try to surpass each other.

"Now, really," I playfully scold them, "you are noisier than a gaggle of geese."

"But it was so amazing, Anne! You should've been there!" Joanne exclaims.

"Iacopo and Niccolo are charming and their family is very kind." Claire agrees, linking arms with me and dragging me into the house.

"Hang on, so they're brothers?" I interrupt them before their descriptions of both men can become more vivid.

"Yes," Claire nods happily and then dissolves into giggles, "Niccolo is the older one."

"Too old if you ask me." Joanne remarks pointedly and at once they delve into a heated argument.

I choose to usher them to their rooms at that point, wondering if I am the only one who finds the arrangement strange and almost too intimate.

"Ah there you are, Anne," my mother interrupts my thoughts, takes my hand and leads me into the sitting room, "how lovely to see you've made an effort today."

I swallow down the backhanded compliment and force an even bigger smile onto my face. "Of course, it's a special occasion. Joanne and Claire seem absolutely besotted with their future husbands."

"And why wouldn't they? We've chosen two very respectable young men for them."

"No doubt…" I mumble and catch a glimpse of my father who is directly heading to his office.

"The wedding preparations must start immediately, of course," mother continues, patting my hands in a manner that's meant to prepare me for something I am not going to like, "and we're all expecting you to be involved. The lovely Bertani family will join us for a celebratory supper in two weeks' time so that your father can discuss some final details of the arrangements. You will be present for the occasion, of course, wearing a beautiful dress that I've bought for you on our journey." She kisses my hands enthusiastically which only serves to intensify my feelings of dread. "They were also kind enough to invite another young man along. A friend of the family, if you wish." She appears to notice the argument I am formulating in my head and swiftly adds: "It wouldn't be appropriate to leave you without a companion."

Perhaps there is such a thing as smothering someone with kindness. If emotional blackmail can be described as kindness.

"Of course." I agree obediently and while a wave of panic tightens my chest, I suddenly wonder how they'd all react if I asked Erik to accompany me to dinner.

Oh the outrage, the scandal! A masked man of such advanced years! Picturing their shocked faces brings a maniacal bout of laughter to the surface that I hurriedly smother with one of the sweet goods Aurelio is handing out.

* * *

One day bleeds into the next and the only reprieve I can find from the noisy house, comes when I write down the details of Erik's tale. It is almost an obsession now that consumes my waking hours and has my thoughts circling around the next time I'll be able to record more of it or hear fresh stories from the man himself.

At last the waiting period is over and I escape the matrimony madness only by feigning an appointment with Teodora. That spontaneous idea turns out to be perfect because it offers an excuse for the extended absence my meeting with Erik will, no doubt, cause.

When night falls at last and I make my way back from Teodora's house, my body is filled with giddy excitement such as one might experience when sneaking off to a secret rendezvous. The shadow of the wall hides him perfectly again and it is only his eyes that alert me to his presence.

Quickening my stride, I press myself to the wall and join him.

"Signorina," he extends a greeting and his voice is enough to soothe my soul.

"Good evening. I hope you haven't been waiting long." I return.

"Some time," he replies with mild annoyance, "I do value punctuality."

"Then I suggest next time you offer something more specific than "nightfall"." I shoot back, determined not to let his usual grumpy demeanour affect me.

"Perhaps," he concedes, "although you will find that "nightfall" describes a specific hour."

"I was visiting Teodora," I wave him off, "to persuade her to purchase more material already while we're waiting for your funds to be delivered."

"And?" he asks and I am glad to see he's sufficiently distracted for now.

"She will consult Lorenzo but assured me that there would be something they could do."

"Splendid," he hums satisfied and his frame instantly relaxes, "when do you propose I may continue then?"

I stay silent for a moment, glancing at the house that I loath to return to.

"Father returns to business early next week. And on Tuesday mother will take my sisters out to buy their wedding dresses. That should provide us with a window of opportunity."

"Four days," he utters grimly and I nod because my heart has grown heavy as well.

There are too many words in the silence that envelops us and it becomes obvious that neither one of us is certain of how to proceed now that we've been robbed of our safe environment.

It is Erik who first shifts out of his rigid state and touches the rim of his hat. "I shall return in four days then. When I see you appear on the balcony I'll know that it's safe to approach."

The street light illuminates him now and I fully appreciate for the first time how perfectly his own clothes fit his measurements. Not a single garment is too large or emphasises his tall and lean physique unflatteringly.

"That sounds sensible," I agree although there's so much more I wish to say and within seconds he leaves my side and starts walking towards a dark alley. "Erik?" I call after him suddenly and it is only the white mask that tells me he has stopped and turned in my direction. "Are you well?"

Once more he inclines his head and then, at last, disappears out of sight.


	19. Chapter 18

Chapter 18: Erik, 1883

_Are you well?_

What an odd question. It accompanies me all the way back to my camp and I turn it over and over in my head, as one might do with a puzzle. It was a pleasantry, of course, nothing more and yet I cannot say that it's one that's often been extended to me. Social conventions are easily forgotten when dealing with a freak of nature.

_Are you well?_

How simple and yet how charged. How much time did one devote to answering it? Surely a confirmation of one's good health was expected. And yet I detected another note in her voice, almost pleading…almost…

50 years on this earth and still a goddamn fool. Had such pleasantries been regularly exchanged with me before, I'd no doubt have become more acquainted with the finer nuances of social norms. I've mastered several traits and gained knowledge and insight into the most unusual workings, surely I would have mastered something as ludicrously simple as this as well had God granted me more exposure.

The more my mind is trying to unlock this mystery, the angrier my steps become. Damn inanimate objects and human relationships, damn them all to hell! But most of all damn people like her and Nadir, with their incessant, idiotic belief in everyone's innate goodness. How dare they breathe hope into me with their lies and deception?!

By the time I reach my camp I am panting and out of breath and the yearning for my opiates is the strongest it's been in a while. I had sworn myself not to give in to these cravings because my body and the undertaking I have dedicated myself to, wouldn't survive another round of addiction and withdrawal. Better to let my system cleanse itself once so that I am capable of finishing what I have started. But now one careless question is threatening to dismantle me entirely and the darkness whose warm, familiar touch I've been evading since my removal from the house is gaining the upper hand.

I absent-mindedly go through the motions, I leave some carrots on the field for my horse that is nowhere in sight, trusting that he shall find it upon his return. Then I enter the small, abandoned stone building that I've selected to be my hideout, kick away the stained rug that conceals the latch leading to the cellar and climb downstairs. There, I light a kerosene lamp and stare grimly into the space that now holds all my belongings.

Perhaps it would've been better, had I just perished after Christine's departure. This search for beauty has only led me into another underground abode. And yet in Giovanni's cellar I'd been as contented as I had been during my first stay as a thirteen year old boy. It is him, I tell myself, his renewed absence that makes this cut so much deeper. I was fine at my house beneath the opera when Christine was gone. Had I not begged her to return to me once more, I would've quite comfortably lived out my days there.

There had been a certain sense of detachment going hand in hand with the crushing pain in my chest. A certain sense of caution around anymore foolish feelings. I had come to terms at last with the fact that I would never belong to the rest of mankind. But now this girl, this blasted, ignorant girl has torn down the walls that I had so painstakingly erected around myself. She has shaken the foundations of my very belief with a simple, careless gesture and now the earth itself is quavering with danger. She almost makes me believe that I am no different than my fellow man, that I could possess what they do. What treacherous thoughts…whispered to me by a viper's tongue. I must be on my guard now. I must not allow her to soften me with her lies. I shall offer no vulnerability that will leave me open to betrayal.

* * *

The following days pass immeasurably slowly as I find myself in the annoyingly common position of lacking something to fill my time with. I try to make use of the space I've found but a man can only spend so much time on organising and reorganising his belongings before it becomes absurd.

Next, I pick on my supply of charcoal and paper and begin sketching. I make alterations to the design of the printing press, then move on to Giovanni's house and the people who are inhabiting it now. I sketch them all with cool detachment as one might do with the characters of a play.

A long time ago I wished to orchestrate another set of characters, to manipulate their hopes and dreams in a way that would create the best outcome for me. Now I know that even my clever mind shall never conjure up the result I desire. So I shall be satisfied with crafting them only and perhaps even take some perverse pleasure in gazing upon those hollow shells, as bland and empty as their live counterparts shall always conduct themselves around me.

* * *

On the second day of the new week I find myself at the house earlier than expected. I have chided myself for my eagerness time and time again but even my own hateful words could not redirect my steps from this destination. I reluctantly stick to the shadow of the wall, ignoring the restlessness that threatens to propel me towards the house already. Instead I try to contain myself with watching the goings-on in the courtyard.

First, the butler accompanies a man who I recognise to be Anne's father to a waiting carriage. Neither of them speak very much though that might have to do with the tension I detect in the latter man's body. While he climbs inside, the servant remains behind, staring after the carriage. At last he shakes his head and returns to the house and all goes quiet. Then another carriage draws into the courtyard. It has an enormous emblem which I do not recognise on its side and is decorated almost garishly richly. Nobody exits it and the driver remains mounted at the front, preserving his air of superiority. Suddenly the house's doors fly open and Anne's sisters rush out, followed by their mother who chuckles but scolds them softly.

When the noisy clatter of wheels and hooves has subsided, I slip away from the wall and make my way across. At the same time Anne emerges on the balcony. If she's surprised to find me so close to the house already she doesn't show it.

The door is unlocked and gives way to the slightest of touches. The hallway welcomes me back and I am loath to admit that my body relaxes within seconds. Calmly I stalk towards the stairway that leads into the cellar but a creak of the floorboards is enough to summon the pesky butler. He stares me down from the other end of the corridor but doesn't open his mouth to address me.

I would like to think it's fear from our last encounter that has taught him to hold his tongue but I see nothing but cold dislike in his eyes. Whatever words Anne exchanged with him then must have done the trick. But I am not foolish enough to believe that his loyalty will extend indefinitely.

Our stalemate continues for only another second and he finally averts his eyes when he hears her footsteps descending. The look he gives her is odd and filled with mixed emotions I cannot name and the longer I watch, the more I feel that I am intruding on a personal moment.

So eventually I turn away and walk down into the cellar, closing the door behind me to let the cool, damp air swallow me up. Anne joins me surprisingly shortly, wearing a smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes.

"You do not require a guard dog, I see."

She chuckles a bit forced and sets a couple of candles down on the floor.

"I suppose he is quite protective," she agrees and retreats into a corner where I spot the press hidden beneath a sheet cover.

"How long do we have until your family returns?" I ask, making my way to the same corner to help her carry the press.

"An hour…three at most." She pants softly and carefully we set the machine down on the floor.

"That should be enough to make some progress." I comment, choosing not to dwell on how quickly that time will pass and how long it'll be until I can return next.

I find the tools under the same sheet and hurriedly commence working.

"He does not approve of me being here?" I ask when her silent presence begins to unnerve me.

My question draws a deep sigh from her lips and for the longest time she simply busies herself lighting all the candles in the room.

"Aurelio is merely concerned. And with his 65 years he is more than entitled to his old-fashioned attitude. He'd be aghast at the thought of me spending time with any man unchaperoned."

"I am certain the mask must play its part." I hum without looking up.

"Yes," she answers honestly, "but only as far as it might lead Aurelio to believe you are a scoundrel and a cad who has seduced women everywhere."

I chuckle lowly and use a hammer on a fresh piece of metal. "And a murderer."

She grimaces and nods. "Yes, his timing was rather inconvenient though I've got the feeling you were aware he was listening in."

"Yes," I admit freely and glance up in time to see her rolling her eyes.

"Don't you think that was rather unnecessary then?" she challenges.

"I don't see how," I shrug, "I wasn't going to lie just because he had decided to satisfy his curiosity."

"In that case I suppose you have no choice but to tolerate his treatment of you now." She says sternly and I am rather compelled to laugh.

I cannot remember if I have ever been scolded by a woman before. Christine was much too timid and kind to raise her voice and my mother's words were by far more hurtful.

"You are a peculiar man." She decides and I chuckle once again.

"Yes, I daresay that's true."

Her eyes are warm and firmly fixed on me and soon it becomes too much. I am all too aware of my own ignorance and inaptness and something else that makes all blood shoot to my head. Thankfully, she allows me to work in silence for a long stretch of time before she speaks up again.

"I have considered our next encounter and thought a week from now might be suitable. Not only will my family be occupied again but I am also hoping that by then Teodora and Lorenzo will have received some of the finer materials you require."

"That sounds sensible." I nod, although I feel reluctance welling up inside me. "Shall I wait by the wall again?"

"Today you were practically on the doorstep already." She chuckles amused.

"I shall try to contain myself next time." I intone dryly and she hums in agreement.

Then we're suddenly interrupted by commotion upstairs. Without exchanging another word we carry the press back to its corner and hide it underneath the sheet so that by the time the butler rushes breathlessly inside, everything looks like it has done before.

"Your sisters have returned, Signorina."

Anne receives the news with remarkable composure – it is only a twitch of her hand that gives her nerves away – and calmly replies: "Perhaps they'd like to take their refreshments in the garden today. I shall be there to join them imminently."

The butler's eyes shift towards me before he, at last, takes his leave.

"You did well." I praise her quietly and stride through the room, extinguishing all the candles until we are left in utter darkness.

Her posture suddenly changes, grows nervous and timid and when I walk back to her side she almost seems to tremble.

"Are you well?" I ask quietly and when she turns to face me her eyes are filled with something that resembles anticipation.

"It's not the first time I've lied." She responds which is puzzling because it does not answer my question.

Her body seems to sway before me, grazing my own and then moving away time and time again. It's a teasing, infuriating dance that finally makes me step closer to maintain the physical contact. The fear that enters her eyes hits me like a bucket of ice water. Whatever way I might have imagined her to react, this wasn't it. Above us, the footsteps have subsided and the punishing silence throbs in my ears. I withdraw from her with what little dignity I can muster and wordlessly stalk out of the room.


	20. Chapter 19

Chapter 19: Anne, 1883

There are noises all around me. Pieces of dialogue, I'm sure. There might even be questions directed at me. But I can't hear any of it. It's as if all my senses are blinded by that last lingering image of Erik in front of me. His eyes gleaming in the dark, his body poised and ready to strike. A predator in his natural habitat.

He possesses such magnetism yet seems completely oblivious to it but while he touched something inside of me that I choose to ignore now for the sake of my sanity, there was also something dark about him, something that brought back images of the night he tried to choke me. I'd never forgotten about it entirely, of course, yet it had been surprisingly easy to put aside when dealing with Erik in a playful and generous mood.

How can I possibly reconcile him with the man I met at the beginning? And how can I be foolish enough not to?

His moods are as unpredictable as they are scary and still I can't help but feel that I've made a mess of a very pivotal moment in our relationship.

* * *

The week slips by and every day I am haunted by that same scene. Whenever I am not engaged in the wedding preparations, I analyse his behaviour from all angles. Though the conclusions I reach are always different, it is the coldness with which he left the cellar that unnerves me the most. The way he can turn from passionate and vibrant to icy and detached within the blink of an eye. But it was much more potent than that, much more foreboding and somehow I just know that there'll be consequences.

I am so preoccupied with the matter that I struggle to focus on anything else. I am there to help out with the practical aspects of the wedding preparations but when my sisters explain some intricate details, I feel myself drifting off. This happens so often that I feel rather guilty because my sisters seem genuinely infatuated with the matches made for them, but I cannot shake the feeling that I am somehow running out of time.

When Tuesday comes around again, I have convinced myself that Erik shall not return. Nonetheless, I make my way to the balcony when I hear my sisters leave, to signal him should he have chosen to return, after all. Unfortunately, I don't make it very far because my father suddenly appears in the corridor. His clothes are crinkled and his hair looks as if he's run his hand through it repeatedly.

"I thought you'd gone to attend to business long ago." I remark and am surprised to see him startle.

"Yes, unfortunately that meeting had to be cancelled so I've dedicated the time to my paperwork instead."

"I see," I reply curtly, understanding far more than he can, perhaps, imagine, "well, don't let me stop you."

He tugs at and adjusts his clothing.

"Oh no, of course not." He responds at last, chuckling nervously.

When he has scampered away, I remain frozen in the corridor, wondering how much more debts he has racked up. Then I remember my appointment with Erik and step out onto the balcony.

To my surprise he has actually come. The shadow of the wall disguises him magnificently once again but there is no doubt that his cat-like eyes are peering up at me. The sight of me is enough to make him abandon his vigil and with a sudden surge of panic I realise that I somehow have to find a way to signal him to stop. My frantic hand gestures prove enough in the end and within seconds he has disappeared back towards the wall.

I am certain that this is the last I'll see of him and so am even more surprised when I notice his figure at the same spot hours later. Darkness has already fallen and the house has gone quiet and after a couple of minutes of consideration my curiosity gets the better of me. When I am certain that my family have retired to their rooms, I grab my cloak and sneak outside.

"You show remarkable perseverance." I say by way of greeting but my hopeful mood disappears when he does not even offer a smile in return.

"Did you not say your family would be occupied today?" he asks and I am not oblivious to the insinuation that swings along with it.

"They were. However, my father unexpectedly cancelled his plans and since he was only taking care of his contracts in the office, I doubt he wouldn't have noticed the noise you might make. Not to mention that with him in the house it's just too risky. He's the only one who could permanently stop my plans. Besides, Teodora and Lorenzo haven't been able yet to acquire further material."

"I see." His snide tone is beginning to grind on my nerves.

"I doubt you do," I reply rather impatiently and hook my arm with his before he can protest, "shall we go for a walk? I think the night air might do us good."

Still I don't await his response but start walking towards the nearest alley. He follows me reluctantly and I can feel the tension that's holding his body.

"I wasn't aware that moonlight walks were part of our arrangement." He at last comments dryly and I can't help but relax against him.

"It's not as if we ever signed a contract," I nudge him gently and instantly feel his eyes burning the crown of my head, "therefore some terms may be negotiable."

He remains silent this time and so I lead him through the back passages of my neighbourhood and towards the _Colle del Gianicolo_.

"I am surprised you are comfortable enough out here with me, Signorina," he taunts me as we're starting our climb, "are you not concerned about the scandal?"

"Which one, Erik?" I ask calmly. "You must be more specific, I've caused quite a few in my time."

"You know very well what I mean." He says and at once his voice loses all its refinement.

I take a deep breath and pray for patience.

"Would you perhaps like to discuss the events of our last encounter?"

At once he grows rigid and squares his shoulders as if for battle. Neither one of us can now appreciate the view of Rome that's sprawled out at our feet.

"I don't think there's anything to discuss, _Signorina_ ," he begins sharply, "you made yourself quite clear."

"That's not the impression I'm getting from you." I argue determinedly. "I have no doubt as to your abilities and vast knowledge but even you cannot possibly know everything that goes on inside me. Because more often than not I don't even know myself."

He makes a dismissive gesture that infuriates me and then insists: "You were frightened. Don't dare to deny it. I do not take kindly to lies!"

"Of course I was frightened!" I exclaim. "You cannot possibly pretend that we met under ordinary circumstances. You blackmailed me and at one point nearly strangled me. Was I to simply put that behind me? Did you really expect me to forget?"

"You wouldn't have helped me otherwise!" he insists stubbornly, his volume gradually rising.

"No, but you will still be held accountable for your actions, Erik, as will I." I sigh, seeking out his eyes to see if I am getting through to him.

"Is that why we're out here, sneaking away from your father?" he challenges and I angrily close my fist around the fabric of my dress.

"You have murdered people and you nearly murdered me, while I am trying to fight for equality. I daresay those two are rather different." I hiss, turning my back to him before I do something I'll regret.

Beneath the drop in front of me Rome slumbers peacefully and unknowing.

"Treacherous wench," he growls and I can feel his anger expand towards my body, "using sweet words to coax me into laying bare my history and then having the gall to use it against me!"

I sigh deeply and turn around to face him once more.

"Don't twist my words, I was genuinely interested in you. I wasn't looking for a way to exploit the information you were offering. You frighten me, yes, your temper is unpredictable and I fear that I might be nothing more than a pawn to you that can be cast aside at any given moment. But I also find you truly fascinating and I have enjoyed and missed your company. People cannot simply be split into sinners and saints, we all have the potential for both in us and while I was scared because I remembered your previous actions, it does not mean that I condemn you entirely."

Instinct has me reaching for his hands and the chill that I feel distracts me for a second from the helpless look in his eyes. But when I do notice it we just stare at each other, uncertain of what to do next.

"It frightens me to think what you're capable of but I am hoping you'll grow to care enough about me so that you won't feel the need to do something like that again. Because if you hurt anyone I care about, if you lay another finger on Aurelio, it is you who should fear my wrath."

His eyes widen in surprise and when I chuckle the corners of his mouth only twitch nervously.

"Now where would you like to go next?" I ask softer, tugging him forwards.

He struggles to abandon his reverie but eventually looks around and finally answers: "Not any deeper into Trastevere. Too many people. But perhaps…"

He doesn't finish his sentence but suddenly starts to walk with a new-found determination. Where he was silent and brooding before he now engages with me enthusiastically and willingly offers his hands to support me on our descent.

We walk for another ten minutes until his gasp of excitement tells me that we've reached our destination. I try following the direction of his gaze but can only make out a high wall and behind it a high-scaling campanile.

" _Chiesa di Sant'Onofrio_." Erik exhales with deep satisfaction and I am confused as to why he's brought me to a church.

"I don't think we'll be able to gain access to it now." I begin, shaking my head but Erik only looks at me in puzzlement.

"Why not? God is omnipresent, is he not? I am certain He will welcome us."

As confused as I am by this sudden, strange mood of his, I am too curious not to follow him around the corner and to the gate. It is firmly locked as I had predicted but rather than turning around in defeat, he chuckles almost gleefully.

"Behold, Signorina, a feat of magic."

I am just about to join in his laughter when his fingers start to work with such dexterity and speed that I can only watch on in awe.

"You look entirely too smug, Signore." I reply when he opens the gates for me after a moment.

The smile on his face broadens and he indicates a bow and then offers his arm once more.

"I am certain trespassing on holy grounds must be a sin, but I suppose that boat has sailed for the both of us already."

He lets out another delighted chuckle and guides me towards one of the many arches that line the outer façade.

"Giovanni, the man whose house your father bought brought me here on one of our many excursions through the city. He made it his duty to introduce me to architectural beauty."The deep affection that resounds in his voice is instantly moving and I squeeze his arm in an effort to comfort him. "This is still as remarkable as it was then."

I follow his eyes that search out and lovingly caress every corner of the building until I, too, begin to see the subtle beauty of this monastery. The walls are in a soft cream colour with well-crafted frescoes that give it character. When he is satisfied he leads me towards the entrance and inside the small chapel that is just as charming as the outside.

"Giovanni certainly possessed great taste." I tell him carefully.

"He possessed so much more. Grace, intelligence, skill and far too much kindness. I owe him my life and I wish…"

"If you didn't mean to do it, I'm sure he knew, Erik." I tell him gently. "You clearly spent a lot of time together so he knew you."

We have come to a stop in the middle aisle in front of the candle-lit altar and his hand is gripping the nearby bench so tightly his already pronounced knuckles turn white. I allow him a moment of quiet reflection but grow concerned when I feel his body shaking against mine.

"Erik?" I ask carefully and shift to stand in front of him.

He struggles to focus on me but eventually nods and runs a shaky hand through his hair.

"It is late, forgive me. I shall accompany you home now."

I touch his wrists, perhaps in an attempt to carry some of his burdens and smile encouragingly. "Very well."

We take our time strolling back together and the more distance we put between ourselves and the monastery, the more he starts to relax. For me, every step has the opposite effect and the sight of the house makes my stomach turn as I realise with a start that I don't yet know when I will see him next.

"Erik?" I begin, inspired by a sudden spark of defiance. "How would you like to come back in three days?"

"Certainly," he nods, patting my hand.

"You will have to be very quiet though," I warn him, "my family has invited guests for dinner."

"Perhaps another time would be advisable then?" he proposes, sounding confused. "Surely the risk of discovery would be too great."

"Perhaps," I shrug and am unable to stop the grin from surfacing, "on the other hand, the noise of the conversations might be enough to drown out any sounds you make in the cellar. Besides, it is my sisters' future husbands and their family who are invited. Rest assured, my parents will be much too focused on the smooth running of the evening to notice anything else."

"You are puzzling, Signorina," he laughs and inclines his head, "but if you're certain then I shan't protest."

"Marvellous!" I exclaim excitedly and clutch his hand in mine. "You're just what was missing from the party."


	21. Chapter 20

Chapter 20: Erik, 1883

Once more I am to become a ghost. However, this time I can't shake the feeling that I've been hired. Anne's invitation was as odd as it was surprising, but I could not possibly deny the spark of excitement that had possessed her the minute she had uttered her proposal. And I must admit that , despite my advanced years, it even fills me with a sense of mischief.

When it is finally time to make my way to the house, I have decided to dress for the occasion. I am certain Anne will appreciate the irony. According to the bold Italian fashion, I have exchanged my usual black cloak for a long burgundy coat and brown waistcoat that interwoven threads of gold elevate to more elegance. My white mask has been exchanged for a more understated black one.

When I arrive, I instantly recognise the carriage with the flamboyant emblem as the one that's previously whisked away Anne's sisters and conclude that the guests are already inside. The driver seems sufficiently distracted and so I stalk past him and a smaller vehicle to the front door. I only push it open a fraction of an inch and already music and voices drift towards me. It appears that Anne did not underestimate the level of distraction.

Of course, I should make a beeline for the cellar but what a wasted opportunity it would be, if I didn't at least take a peek. The family has assembled around a large dining table that appears to be aching under the weight of an obscene amount of food. The wine flows freely and everyone converses in broken pieces of English and Italian which repeatedly prompts the two oldest women to break into guffaws of laughter. I cannot say what's more embarrassing, their poor command of the respective language or the forced air of levity they're putting on display.

Anne is sitting next to her sisters, opposite her a young man who seems entirely too eager to engage her in a conversation. Her smile resembles a toothache but nonetheless she answers his questions with a politeness and patience not everyone could have mustered. It is amusing to watch this little farce in front of me, safe in the knowledge that humans are simply too ignorant to notice anything they do not wish to see. But gradually the noise and the gossip offends my ears and I withdraw to the sanctuary of the cellar.

The outer shell of the press is still hidden under the same sheets but when I lift them up, a note flutters out and falls to the ground. I pick it up and read what's been written in a spiky but neat handwriting:

_Buonasera Signore,_

_Believe me that I do not exaggerate when I tell you that your presence here tonight gives me the greatest of pleasures. I shall hold on to that thought and try to preserve my sanity while suffering through dinner. You will find that I have placed a small crate of candles next to the printing press, as well as a couple of the smaller items you've requested. Teodora sought me out yesterday to deliver them. It is not much but I nonetheless hope you will have enough to entertain yourself. I shall come to see you as soon as the possibility arises; three taps on the door will alert you to my presence._

_Anne_

Her words bring a small smile to my lips and I gingerly fold up the note and tuck it away safely in my coat pocket. Then I set up a few candles, not too many should I suddenly have to hide but enough to make sure that even my eyes won't overlook anything and then I begin to work. The cylinders, wheels and rollers don't require much force but a determined focus and patience that is ideally suited to the current situation. Progress is slowly made and by the time I approach the second set, three soft taps on the door signal Anne's arrival. I don't answer but set aside my tools and rise to my feet.

She sweeps in wearing a full gown of orange brocade and golden stars, her hair tied back firmly in a bun which not only ages her but also makes her look much too severe.

"Signore, I'd like a word." She opens strictly but despite her tone I can see a smile playing on her lips.

"I am at your disposal," I say, taking a mocking bow before stepping closer.

She reaches into the front of her bodice in a way that has me hastily averting my eyes and at last produces a piece of paper.

"I received a correspondence today from France from a certain Nadir Khan?"

I look back at her and nod. "I trust he not only sent that but also the payment I'd requested?"

"Indeed," she confirms, "but Signore, have you been lying to me?"

"Pardon?" I ask in puzzlement.

"I believed you to be a free man and yet it turns out you have "a little lady" back in Paris?"

My stomach turns as the thought of Anne finding out about Christine is utterly repellent. I do not think she'd judge me any more or less harshly than she has done already but somehow I do not wish Christine to touch Anne. It would only break something, of that I am certain.

"Apparently Ayesha is expecting your return and does not take to him at all."

Relief makes me break into laughter.

"Oh stop teasing me," I tell her, "Ayesha is my cat."

"If you are certain," she grins though her shoulders grow visibly less tense.

I wonder what had her so worried.

"Is the little get-together a success?" I ask, holding out my hand for Nadir's letter.

She passes it over wordlessly and shrugs. "To some extent, I suppose."

I pocket the note and take in her whole appearance yet again. "Did you fall into a powder pot?"

She blushes and her face turns even redder.

"Is that another one of your strange compliments?" she asks. "Mother insisted to help me get ready. After all, I am meant to impress Signor Benigni."

"And reddened cheeks are thought to have an appealing effect?" I probe and she shrugs.

"So I am told."

I take another step closer and run a finger along her cheekbone to remove the offending substance. "What utter nonsense. You looked far more becoming the other night with your hair wild and tangled and your cheeks naturally flushed from the fresh air."

Her gaze remains fixated on me although the rest of her seems to have frozen entirely.

"Forgive me," I sigh, stepping away from her again, "I tend to forget how unnaturally cold my touch feels to others."

"It wasn't that." She hesitantly offers after a moment and wipes the rouge off of her other cheek as well.

Helplessness takes hold of me once more and in order to avoid the lingering eye contact, I retreat to the corner and begin working on the next piece for the printing press.

"Is the young man to your liking?" I ask her when she continues to stand and stare at me.

"He's pleasant enough." She waves off my question.

"But not entirely…satisfactory?" I venture further.

"He's…" she pauses and when I glance up she really seems to mull over her answer, "he's not as bland as the men I've been set up with in the past but I guess I have just developed a natural objection to any match chosen by my parents. I feel that they might contaminate the relationships so that even if I were to like this man they'd somehow be in the shadow pulling strings."

"I see," I nod even though I don't.

In my experience you either fall for someone wholeheartedly or you don't and if you did then surely nothing else would matter?

"He has invited me to the opera but so far I have avoided answering."

"I suppose that is the best way forward if you are uncertain."

"I am not even overly fond of opera myself," she sighs, "my experience is limited, of course, but I still have nightmares of pompous men walking on stage to deliver their pieces without any expression on their faces, as if they had forgotten that they also needed to breathe life into their characters rather than simply singing a song. Or terrible sopranos screeching and clawing at the high notes…" She shudders. "I much prefer the theatre. The spoken word in its rawest form…all the comedic and tragic aspects of our lives laid bare."

"Which are all present in opera." I argue and she chuckles and then glances at the door.

"I see this is a topic you feel quite strongly about. Perhaps we can resume this conversation when I next manage to sneak away?"

"Won't your family grow suspicious?" I ask but she only chuckles.

"Perhaps but I cannot help that I happen to have an upset stomach on this very evening. If I keep this up I might not even have to give the man an answer. Men find you less desirable if you appear to be less than perfect."

"What a strange world we live in." I offer dryly and then watch her go.

In her absence, I manage to set up the second line of wheels, cylinders and ink rollers and read over Nadir's letter. As always, it is filled with clumsy, affectionate sentiments, a dash of curiosity and an expected amount of annoying preaching. He has taken a far too great liking to playing the role of conscience.

His paragraph about Ayesha touches me and makes me feel guilty for abandoning her. I knew that she would struggle to adjust and since Nadir has never been overly fond of felines, I doubt he has put much effort into winning her over. I miss her companionship and the eagerness with which she always greeted me and I do believe that at her old age she should be with someone who'd love her and care for her. But the journey to Italy would've been much too strenuous for her and I don't like to confine animals to leashes or cages.

I can feel myself slip into a dark mood and am grateful when Anne appears in the cellar once more.

"How do you feel about Othello?" she asks and I abandon my handiwork and place it back in its hiding spot.

"One of Shakespeare's less refined works," I shrug eventually, "that demonstrates how tempers can flare when we love passionately."

To my surprise my answer seems to amuse her.

"I think it only shows how pride can twist men and how fragile their egos can be. Did Othello ever consider asking Desdemona about other possible relations? No! Instead he believed the words of the one man most likely to hold a grudge and allowed himself to be manipulated."

"Do you really think she would have answered truthfully had she been unfaithful?" I mutter.

"But she wasn't!" Anne insists firmly. "He should have trusted her!"

"How could he have trusted her when he knew of the deceptive nature of females? How could he have trusted her when he differed greatly from everyone at court and it could have been all too likely that her affections were really just a ruse?" I bellow, completely forgetting myself and within two stride Anne reaches me and covers my mouth with her finger.

"I underestimated how passionately you'd feel about this." She whispers. "Clearly we don't agree."

She accepts my mask as if it was my face itself and simply stares up at my eyes. I exhale against her fingers and my lips taste her skin, unbidden. I can't resist. I need her to see what a monster I am but now that she sees me, she still doesn't back away.

"Why the questions?" I ask and she slowly lifts her finger.

"I shall, unfortunately, attend Rossini's Othello with Signor Benigni and I wondered if you had an opinion on the opera."

"I have several…" I reply unexpectedly and she sighs.

"And I don't suppose you'd be willing to share them now so I can estimate how much of a disaster that evening shall become?"

"You could not avoid saying yes, I presume?"

"No, mother all but cornered me." She mutters angrily. "But no harm…I shall endeavour to enjoy myself nonetheless. Perhaps you would like to accompany me on another walk afterwards?"

"Surely your suitor will be kind enough to walk you home?" I ask, feeling at a loss now that I no longer have something to busy myself with.

"That's not the point," she waves off my remark, "you could wait by the wall again and introduce me to more of the splendours of Rome that Giovanni showed you? We could continue this debate about Othello and I could let you know if I consider the music to be as spectacular as it is apparently hailed to be."

I do not know what to make of her enthusiasm but her proposal seems genuine and it would, therefore, be unkind to turn her down. I know it is foolish of me to spend more time with her than necessary as it will only weaken me to the urges that still occasionally tug at me. But as long as I don't give into the ludicrous belief that this might evolve into a regular arrangement, I suppose there's no harm in seeking out her companionship.

"As you wish." I agree and am rewarded with a glowing smile in return.

"Marvellous! He said he would take me for the Wednesday evening performance. It starts at 9, I believe."

"Then I shall be waiting at the usual spot around midnight." I bow and she chuckles.

"How very formal of you, Erik. I promise I'll try my best not to keep you waiting long."

"We shall see," I smirk and she laughs loudly, a sound that's utterly delightful and one which she unfortunately chooses to smother much too soon with the palm of her hand.

"You derive great pleasure from opposing your family." I comment while she walks to the door.

"You have no idea." She replies and with a last glance at me, slips out.


	22. Chapter 21

Chapter 21: Anne, 1883

Mother is surprised when I voluntarily seek her out in the evening before the opera but I have chosen a rather elaborate hairstyle and require a second pair of hands.

"You should really consider wearing a different gown, Anne." She keeps insisting but I ignore her and pass her the pins that are needed to secure my hair.

I know that the one I've chosen is much too simple for her taste but I am certain that it'll please Erik.

"I think Signor Benigni is a lovely man," she shifts topics eventually when she comes to realise that her current pursuit won't yield a result.

"Yes," I nod and eye myself in the mirror.

"And I daresay he's rather taken to you."

"No need to sound so surprised." I remark and slap her hand that was on its way to the rouge.

"Oh dear," she chuckles, "don't be so paranoid. I'm not surprised at all. I know you can be more than pleasant when you choose to be."

Thankfully Aurelio knocks on the door at this point and enters the room. "Signor Benigni has arrived. His carriage is waiting outside."

"Splendid!" mother exclaims and rises to her feet so enthusiastically that she yanks me along. "Tell him we'll be there in just a moment."

I give Aurelio a weary smile, put on my cloak and reach for my purse.

"Be polite and gracious, my darling. Italian men expect to be treated with respect."

"I will if he will," I mutter and stride to the door.

"Chin up and smile," she instructs me, "and just think, you might be spending your evening with your future husband."

"Don't wait up!" I tell her firmly and somehow manage to draw a giggle from her throat that's almost sickening.

Then I reach the foyer and Signor Benigni's awaiting arms and within minutes we are in his carriage on our way to the opera. He does his very best to engage me in conversation. His words are soft and complimentary and sometimes even passionate when he breaches the topic of operas. Yet I find him almost too agreeable. With him every day would be as predictable as the next and just imagine how long a lifetime like that would feel.

Throughout the opera he tries his best to charm me and even allows me time to wander around and inspect the place to my heart's content. I am not certain what he expects the outcome to be, what rewards have been promised to him or if he truthfully and naively has developed some kind of feelings for me.

It's on the way back when he insists on taking my hands that I lose whatever patience I've possessed thus far.

"Signor Benigni, I wonder which promises my family has made to you."

"No promises," he insists though he has the decency to blush, "I've merely been invited because your father felt you might benefit from some companionship."

"And you considered my father to be an appropriate judge of that?" I challenge and he nervously swallows.

His hand is grasping mine more firmly.

"Please, I did not mean to offend you. I thought it could do no harm. You were delightful when I first met you and even more so now. If you would be willing, Signorina, it would be a privilege if I could make an honourable woman out of you."

"Is that so?" I laugh and the sound is enough to make him retreat into his corner of the carriage. "So you are implying that I am yet to become honourable?"

"I didn't mean…please don't twist my words. All I intended to say is that I'd be delighted for your hand in marriage."

My laughter vanishes and my expression sobers. "Then I am afraid I must disappoint you, Signore. I am not prepared to settle for anything other than love."

"Perhaps in time you could grow to love me?" he tries carefully and all of a sudden I become aware of the restricted space we're sharing.

In my desperation, I am possessed by the overpowering urge to throw myself out of the moving vehicle just to escape the uncomfortable situation. But instead I try to conduct myself with grace.

"I don't think that would ever happen. Forgive me."

"That is rather regrettable." He sighs and stares at his hands that are now folded in his lap.

I lean forward and look out of the window, willing the horses to move faster. Surely the journey to the opera house was only half as long. When we at last arrive, Signor Benigni helps me outside with the dignity that is expected of him and even places a lingering kiss upon my cheek.

"Should you change your mind don't hesitate to reach out to me." He says quietly and then disappears back into the vehicle that swiftly drives out of sight.

I sigh my relief into the night and take a moment to compose myself. Then I duck under the cover of the balcony and make my way to the wall.

Erik's familiar, towering figure gives me such comfort that I rather uncharacteristically wrap myself around his arm and lean against him. He stiffens at the sudden contact and seeks out my eyes questioningly.

"I'm sorry," I say tiredly, "I did not mean to make you uncomfortable. It's just so good to see you."

Hopefulness lights up his eyes and his body eases back into a more relaxed posture.

"Has Othello been disappointing then?" he asks and I chuckle.

"Othello was alright, it's Signor Benigni that's given me trouble."

He steps away from me, breaking the contact for only a moment before linking his arm with mine once more.

"He seemed a perfect gentleman." He comments as he leads me away from the house and involuntarily I feel myself blush, having realised that Erik has, no doubt, witnessed the kiss.

"He proposed to me in the carriage."

He laughs at the absurdity and shakes his head. "A rather pragmatic location, I reckon."

"To be fair, I cornered him. He kept sending signals and I demanded to know what my parents had promised him…although I knew, of course."

"You chose not to play the role that was required of you?" he asks and I scoff.

"Roles are limiting, Signore."

"Indeed," he hums and then adds, "although I've come to find yours rather enjoyable."

We walk for a while in companionable silence. I do not question where he leads me though my curiosity is threatening to get the better of me.

"Do you agree with my appraisal of Othello?" I ask eventually and watch his mouth quirk into a smile.

"Your appraisal?" he repeats. "The one word summary of someone's life blood and dedication?"

"Oh how terribly dramatic you can be," I scold him and tenderly swat his arm, "I meant no offense to Rossini. The opera was pleasant enough. He changed the plot in a way that made it awfully replaceable…putting Iago in the role of spurned lover. The music was pleasant but almost too sweet. I'd like to see something that emphasises the darker side of the narrative."

He hums and mulls it over for a moment or two.

"Perhaps he simply chose to focus on the love that flows throughout the piece despite the jealousy."

"Or perhaps he felt the romantic spin would guarantee a full house." I challenge and he chuckles.

"Yes…"

He takes a right bringing us closer to the Tiber and as we walk through the darkened streets I begin to wonder if a younger Erik previously followed this path.

"Giovanni taught you stonemasonry?" I ask, hoping that my curiosity won't offend him.

He looks at me startled but then focuses on the street ahead of us again.

"Yes, I was a young boy when I met him. I had stumbled upon his site by accident and forgotten about time or my surroundings as I studied the work."

"You were trespassing?" I grin and he drags up his shoulders in a shrug.

"He did not own the property. He surprised me and I very nearly killed him."

"You'd murdered as a boy?" I ask and the revelation makes me shiver.

"Yes, I drew blood for the first time at a very young age. Certain habits are harder to shake than others."

He speaks about it so plainly and matter-of-factly that it's utterly unnerving. It is almost as if he cannot tell right from wrong.

"But Giovanni was an old man," he continues happily, "and pushed my knife away without hesitation. Perhaps he feared me, I cannot say, but he seemed to sense something in me that no-one had before him. Unlike many others, his eyes did not instantly seek out my mask."

"He respected you." I offer and he nods absent-mindedly.

"I can't say what compelled him to do so but he suddenly asked if I wanted to look at the plans. I had drawn before, learned very much about the rules of architecture as a child," he explains and there's a bitter note that taints his words, "but I knew nothing about masonry. Yet while I had explored his site, I had created my own plans and those that Giovanni presented me with were nothing but inferior. I told him so rather bluntly but he possessed enough grace not to take offense. Or perhaps he didn't mind me saying so because he agreed." He sighs deeply and looks down. "He accepted my wild passions of youth so calmly…"

We have come to a halt in front of a building that can only be described as odd. It is round and yet made out of two halves that don't seem to belong to each other. One contains a set of small resident houses, the other is tall and possesses several arches that line its front. It bears a strange resemblance to the Colosseum yet feels somewhat unfinished.

"Is this what you wanted to show me?" I prompt him when he remains lost in thought.

His amber eyes flicker startled to my face and from there to the building.

"Yes," he concludes finally, "this is Teatro Marcello. I thought you might enjoy it."

"Well, it is rather peculiar, I give it that."

Thankfully my comment seems to amuse him and his whole posture becomes much livelier again. "Yes, it certainly is rather different, isn't it? It stems from the Roman era, of course, and was used and still is used as an amphitheatre."

I shift away from him and go exploring underneath the arches.

"The stones look brittle." I call and he strides after me and rests his hand against them.

"They've seen more lives pass them by than any of us have." He remarks philosophically. "And as we're decaying we all lose our beauty."His thoughts seem to wander off again and he shifts uncomfortably, and swiftly moves away from the building. "Let us stroll back by the river."

I nod, lift my skirts and try to catch up with him but he's taking such big strides that I am out of breath by the time I finally reach him.

"There is no use dwelling on it." I tell him in what I hope to be a gentle tone.

He hums questioningly and looks at me distractedly.

"Something has upset you or reminded you of something unpleasant. Don't dwell on it. It's a beautiful night, what a shame not to enjoy it."

His lips curve upwards in a melancholy smile while he cocks his head. "How do you see the light when you're surrounded by darkness, Anne?"

I consider his words and automatically lean against him. "What makes you think I always succeed?"

"You have a drive," he nods, "but also a lightness that I crave."

"Perhaps you just need someone to shine a lantern. Even a small spot can be enough to keep the darkness at bay."

He stops once more and for the longest time simply stares at the lazy current of the river. Then he turns abruptly and grasps my hands in his.

"You are my beacon, Anne. I do not deserve your kindness but you give me hope."

Passion reverberates through his voice and his eyes light up with such devotion and yearning that I feel at once breathless.

"You flatter me," I find myself mumbling while hurriedly averting my eyes, "and all you have to do is treat me with courtesy and respect. No threats will be necessary to keep me by your side. If anything they'd be the only reason why I might leave you."

He nods solemnly and suddenly appears to change into a young boy in front of my eyes. "I won't disappoint you."

Aware that the atmosphere around us has grown much too heavy, I link my arms with his and start walking down the river again.

"Tell me more about Giovanni," I encourage him, for I cannot bear another minute of his intense attention, "what happened after your first encounter?"

"He showed me many more sites." He answers slowly. "Somehow he seemed to know instinctively that my soul was lost for he brought me to the Vatican and hoped I would find peace with God."

I look up at him surprised, had never considered him to be a man of faith.

"He did not succeed," he answers my question dryly, "but my mother was a Catholic and I was taught a great deal by our priest whom I was named after. There are certain beliefs you simply cannot ignore. Giovanni had so much more to offer than the church, however. He opened his home to me, gave me sanctuary in the very cellar we work in now." He sighs and I feel the magnitude of the gesture before he elaborates. "I was finally safe…He had too much respect to intrude on my privacy. At day he taught me the skills of the trade until I was good enough to take over his contracts. It was his reputation that kept me safe there too. That allowed me to work like an ordinary man. He was like a father…" he adds quietly, almost like an afterthought but with touching adoration. "I could have learned so much more but then Luciana arrived. It was the first time I loved. Clumsily, devoutly, perhaps but nonetheless fiercely."

I can feel his hand clamp up and caress his arm with my free hand in hopes of soothing him.

"Why did she need to see my face?"

The question hangs between us, his desperation clinging to every word and somehow I know that this simple query is powerful enough to summarise the whole tragedy of his life.

"She was young," I conclude, "perhaps she expected something else behind the mask. Some great, fantastic secret."

He chuckles bitterly and looks left towards the Tiber again. "I left and never looked back."

"Until now," I remark, "and I am honoured that you trust me enough."

He nods wordlessly and pats my hand and we cross the last distance to the house in silence.

"I am pleased you suggested this walk," he says at last when we've sought out the safety of the wall.

"So am I." I smile. "But I'm afraid I shall only be able to welcome you again in a week. I have another meeting ahead of me and I suppose the house will quieten down for a little bit now."

"A shame," he replies firmly and lifts my hands to his lips, "but I shall return as you've asked of me. At sunset?"

"Yes, that would be best." I nod and he bows.

"Goodnight."

He moves away with cat-like grace and with enviable fluidity melts into the night.


	23. Chapter 22

Chapter 22: Erik, 1883

_Daroga,_

_Rest assured that your correspondence has found me well, as has the money which you enclosed. Your good, old curiosity penetrated every word of your letter and I shall shed some light on the questions you were too polite to ask but not too polite to hint at._

_But first allow me to linger for a moment on the subject of my dear Ayesha. She is a feline and as such naturally intelligent enough to sense when someone is less than fond of her. I have told you time and time again that animals can perceive things that far surpass our understanding. If you truly wish to care for her, you must make an effort to open yourself up. She shall sense the change in you and begin to seek you out. Don't force her to succumb to your will but allow her to engage with you first. Animals should not have to obey our will either. I can only estimate her age since she was nothing more than a small kitten when I first made her acquaintance, but she must have accumulated a fair amount of years by now so I beg you to make her as comfortable as possible, spoil her if you can. I miss her company daily._

_Now on to the matters I trust shall interest you more. I am certain that you share my surprise in my continued existence. When I arrived here in Italy and began my search for beauty I was convinced that my days were numbered. I felt that if only I were to witness something truly beautiful, I might finally be granted the peace I craved. Instead I found nothing but the ordinary.  
At long last I was pulled to revisit Rome, place of great wonder and sadness. I'm sure you can recall some of the details I divulged to you about my previous experiences here. But there was nothing else that captured my attention but the house that had been my first true home. I knew that Giovanni had long since passed, of course, but had nonetheless expected his family to reside there. You can imagine my surprise when I found an Englishman and his family instead. Oh what great upheaval their presence caused me! How many hours I invested in rectifying the situation. I know your imagination has already taken you down dark thoughts and possibilities and I can freely admit that I fell into old patterns. However, you must understand that I was merely trying to pay back a kindness in the only way I knew how._

_How mysterious the world is sometimes…for, you see, this is how I encountered Anne for the first time. She is the young woman whose address I had given you. I frightened her in the most shameful way but she would not be broken. I am unwilling to compare her to Christine at this point but it must be done if I want to be certain you understand. Christine possessed pristine beauty and grace, she was kind-hearted and loving yet possessed the frailty of a Ming vase. Anne could, perhaps, be described as much plainer although she shines even in her darkest hours. I often feared for Christine, yearned to shelter her from the harshness of the outside world whereas Anne…oh my dear Daroga, she has all the strength of a willow that bends according to the will of the wind but never breaks. And I cannot help but foolishly hope that she might be the only one who can remain whole and unspoilt in the company of a monster such as myself._

_But I digress or perhaps I have simply moved right to the heart of the matter. My ailing health provided us with an opportunity to get more acquainted and how very grateful I am for that chance. She is utterly delightful! Strong-willed yet vulnerable, passionate and curious but aware of unspoken boundaries. She is trying to do what she can for the interest of women and since I owe her my life I have agreed to help her. That is what the monetary support was for; the materials for the printing press I'm building are quite expensive._

_There is one last thing I must share with you, but I do not know how to go about it without sounding like a fool. She has accompanied me on two strolls now, blissful hours spent wandering around Rome, following in the footsteps of my dear Giovanni. She seeks me out, daroga! She touches me willingly! Hands soft and warm, never once flinching away from the coldness of this corpse. There is no demonstration of power necessary, nor shameful begging. Surely you must be convinced by now that I have taken leave of my senses or that she has some promising fantasies about the face beneath the mask. But I am certain she knows, I have alluded to it several times and she is bright enough to draw her own conclusions. No doubt even she cannot estimate the extent of my disfigurement but if she can show forgiveness in light of anger and violence, perhaps she can show kindness to the rest of me, too. I cannot begin to imagine what compels her to trust me or touch me but I shall strive to make every joyous moment last._

_She is the beauty I had never expected to find! How idiotic I am, how naïve, but I can't deny to have begun caring about her most tenderly. Please rest assured, I shall not harm her nor force her to be mine. I shall simply relish however many days with her I've been granted._

_I hope you are keeping well, Nadir, and are not too lonely._

_Your friend,_

_Erik_


	24. Chapter 23

Chapter 23: Anne, 1883

The euphoria my walk with Erik has created clouds my brain and makes me forget for a blissful moment the events that preceded it. At the breakfast table the next morning, however, I experience a rude awakening that forces me to face the aftermath of the rejected proposal.

The moment my mother enquires about the previous evening with Signor Benigni I know that the peace will be broken.

"It was pleasant," I answer her calmly, "up until the moment he confessed that he wanted to propose to me."

"Oh how lovely!" mother exclaims excitedly.

She appears to be blind to my feelings but father is quick on the uptake.

"Are you not listening, Mary?" he mutters angrily, spooning preserves onto his toast. "She turned him down."

"No…" mother chuckles, "why would she do something so silly? Signor Benigni is perfectly charming."

"Probably too charming for her." He waves his hand dismissively and I clutch my knife tighter.

"You speak as if you know me," I address him coolly across the table, "yet that seems impossible considering you have never dedicated much time or attention to me. The only reason why you know Joanne and Claire is because they didn't mind being set up. They were instantly in your good books."

"You are entirely out of line." He decides and I put down my knife and toss my serviette onto the table.

"No, you are. Telling Signor Benigni that I am in need of companionship. That is not for you to decide and had you bothered to ask, I would have told you that I have all the companionship I require."

"Flings and short-lived rendezvouses do not count!" he says snidely and his words feel like a physical blow.

Mother, who had at first been trying to calm him down by patting his arm and whispering urgently to him, has now given up and is cowering on her chair, her face hidden behind her hands.

"And marriage will be the miracle cure?" I challenge. "I am sure mother would contradict if she wasn't so devoted to you. How much companionship do you offer her when you're racing from one appointment to the next or lock yourself away in your office for hours?"

"Enough!" he growls.

He's puffing like a bull about to charge.

"If you think you hold all the answers perhaps it is time you left this family. You are long past your prime but since you seem to believe that you need no man's money to maintain you, see how well you cope on your own."

I begin to shake though if it is with fear or with anger, I cannot say.

"As you wish," I curtsy mockingly, "your faith in women is astounding. Perhaps you should reconsider your view on set-up marriages, mother, since you are nothing more than a tool for him, an accessory at best. Consider carefully if that's what you truly want…" I pause and glance at Joanne and Claire who seem frozen on the spot, "for yourself and your daughters."

"Out!" father bellows and I am happy to oblige.

* * *

I hide out in my room for the following two days trying to overcome the lingering feeling of dread that accompanied my father's threat. So when the weekend comes around and it is time for me to accompany Teodora to another meeting I am almost relieved.

Almost, but not quite.

"You look terrible," she greets me when I arrive at her house, "have you been ill?"

"No, I've had another fallout with my father."

She grimaces in understanding and then presents a small tin. "Would biscotti help ease the pain?"

I chuckle despite myself and force the container into my already full satchel.

"I was set up with another man…" I fill her in as we start walking. "They had suggested marriage to him and when he admitted that to me I turned him down."

"Naturally they didn't like that." She nods.

"No, and when I told them things got a little heated at the breakfast table. Long story short, father suggested I should leave as he would no longer invest any time or money in supporting me."

"That's…" she seems to be searching for the right word, "appalling! It's basically an ultimatum, isn't it? Either you marry or you must fend for yourself."

"I'd happily pick the latter option if there was enough work for women out there that'd pay decently. Without that I can't possibly hope to survive on my own. What's worse, the press is still in the cellar, of course. If he decides to throw me out one day I could hardly take it along and then all the work would have been in vain."

"Let's not despair just yet." Teodora decides firmly. "You are still living under their roof and things might still turn for the better."

"I'd love to have your optimism." I sigh and she tugs me closer as we continue walking. "If I wasn't so desperate to escape that horrible atmosphere, I might not have come today."

"Are you not excited to present your achievements? I remember you saying that you were nervous but by the sound of it you've made good progress on the press?"

I mumble my answer into the collar of my dress and earn a raised eyebrow. Fortunately, we have arrived at the villa and there is no time to explain myself.

Fiorentina answers the door and leads us into the garden with her usual offerings of snide remarks. Today, only a small group of women seems to have assembled. Some are standing with glasses of refreshments in their hands and others have made use of the wooden benches and are drinking in the sun. The sight of them only serves to make me more anxious as I can see neither Constanza nor any other friendly faces.

It feels as if I am descending into the inner circle of some exclusive sisterhood though if I am the newest member or the sacrificial lamb has yet to be seen.

We have barely set foot into the garden when Massima shifts away from her group and approaches us. "I hear your sisters have got engaged."

"Yes." I reply simply though I doubt that she is here to offer her congratulations.

"And it was set up? Your family must be proud of their match."

"I'm sure they are." I shrug.

"And you are certain that's not something you'd be comfortable with?" she probes sweetly. "It would be a very sheltered life."

"And I don't want that." I answer firmly.

Massima nods but then leans in and whispers into my ear: "And yet I don't believe you."

"How very unfortunate." I say dryly, shoulder her out of the way and catch up with Teodora who has paused to glance back at me.

"Trouble?" she asks quietly and I shrug.

"No more so than usual."

The other women that have been whispering grow silent when Fiorentina calls for everyone's attention. I expect her to start with an itinerary like she did last time but instead she grasps my hand and draws me straight into the limelight with her.

"I'm sure we all agree that we'd like to hear from Anne first."

There are affirmative mutters and I wipe my hands nervously on my dress before opening my satchel and producing the document I have brought with me.

"The printing press is coming along nicely. The outer shell has been fully assembled and some of the inner mechanism has been started. There's been a delay due to finances but Teodora has been rather helpful and will also make sure we acquire the last missing pieces."

There is polite applause that gets cut short when Massima intersects pointedly: "And we are to simply take your word for it?"

Feeling my patience waning I plaster on a sweet smile that almost matches hers.

"Perhaps you underestimate the weight of the machine. I understand that you are suspicious of me as I have only just entered your circle, but I am more than happy to show you the press if you'd be willing to visit me one day?"

"I suppose we shall see the results soon enough." She settles but it feels like a small victory nonetheless.

"Lovely," Fiorentina comments dispassionately, "and how have you progressed on your assignment? Is it ready for circulation?"

"I've brought it with me," I answer and nervously pass the piece of paper onto her, "I assumed you wanted to read it first to make sure it meets your standards."

She hums dismissively, unfolds the document and begins to read.

Time has never felt so long. I can feel everyone's eyes on us in the silence; their anticipation. Every raised eyebrow, every quirk of the lip unnerves me as I am trying to gauge her reaction.

"I must say this is rather disappointing." She says at last and I feel my heart sink.

Behind me I can hear Massima gasp and when Fiorentina holds up the document for further inspection, she is the first to snatch it away. A thousand excuses are formulating themselves in my head but none of them make it past my lips. I knew I was going to let them down.

"Perhaps you aren't ready yet."

The murmur around me swells and before I can hear another humiliating word, I break into a run and flee out of the villa. Everything seems to be crumbling around me and I don't have the strength to keep patching it up.

I run until my lungs are burning and the heat fatigues me. Sweat trickles down my back and makes the corset I wear feel even more restricting. I am tired and frustrated and have nowhere to go. I can't possibly return and apologise for my behaviour nor can I bear the prospect of facing my family yet. If only I knew where Erik lives…

A hand on my shoulder startles me and I let out a small scream of surprise but see that it's only Teodora when I turn around. Her face is red and she's just as breathless. She must've followed me and I didn't even notice.

"What's going on?" she presses out between gulps of air.

"Everything…it's all gone to hell." I mutter and try to break away from her again.

"Stop running for a moment," she says and pulls me back, "and be more specific. What is everything?"

"My life!" I exclaim with a sweeping gesture that I detachedly realise must look terribly dramatic.

"I know your family has upset you but we will help you. We wouldn't just let you starve on the streets."

"I'm certain you change your mind when I can't be of use to your little group." I mutter darkly and Teodora's hands tighten so firmly around my wrists that I feel her nails piercing my skin.

"I resent that insinuation." She replies firmly. "That is a completely different matter. Do I think that it would be beneficial to you if you put more effort in your work for them? Yes. But I liked you before I even introduced you to the group."

I exhale shakily and deflate almost immediately. My temper can make me look very ugly indeed.

"I apologise," I say quietly, "I did not mean to offend you. But I still fear I shall be of no use to you. I can supply you with the printing press although even that is not my work. But I cannot contribute any writings. My mind is occupied with other matters."

"What do you mean?" she frowns. "You seemed so passionate in the beginning."

"I was…I mean I wasn't…" I pause and pace up and down, "I am passionate about equality but my writing is focused on other things. I don't think I have ever tackled political issues…I get more engrossed with people and characters, their lives, their struggles."

Teodora steps closer and stops my movements once again.

"There is something you're not telling me." She whispers.

At once my muscles grow taut with tension and I fear that my sudden shortness of breath will be enough to give me away.

"Like what?" I force myself to ask and chuckle nervously but notice that this reaction only makes her more suspicious.

"How about you begin with the person that's really building the press?"

I swallow and glance around. I cannot say what possesses me to believe that Erik might be lurking nearby but I am gripped by an inexplicable fear as to the consequences should he, indeed, be witnessing this. I try to pin it on one of the threats he previously uttered and focus on Teodora again.

"I cannot disclose anything here."

Her eyes widen though I cannot predict whether she is simply hoping for a juicy bit of gossip or whether she has concluded something from the panic in my voice.

"Let's go home. Lorenzo will still be working and mother will grant us some privacy."

I am given no say in the matter as Teodora hooks her arm with mine and leads me to her house. We have barely set a foot over the threshold when Nonna Leonora gasps in excitement.

"It's the biscotti, isn't it?"

I stare at her in confusion for a few minutes and then break into laughter.

"No, the tin is still full." I reassure her.

"We need a bit of space to talk." Teodora adds softly and her mother nods in understanding.

"Take some juice and don't let the children see you then. Otherwise you won't get a moment."

Teodora discards her bag by the door, slips into the kitchen to retrieve one of the jugs and two glasses and then leads me upstairs and into her bedroom. My eyes wander from the four poster bed to the wardrobe and the dresser that's adorned with a vase and a fresh bouquet of flowers. A man's trousers and suspenders lie folded over a chair and I suddenly feel that I am getting a much too intimate glimpse of something I will never be part of.

"Sit," Teodora offers and points to the bed, while drawing the chair closer and filling our glasses with juice.

I follow her instructions, sinking a little into the soft mattress and wonder where to begin.

"I suppose you might call him a friend. How we came to meet is unimportant." I try to keep my voice even but feel Teodora can see through me nonetheless. "He's very skilled and happened to be indebted to me so he offered to build the press."

"Yet he's a secret." She points out knowingly. "It's no ordinary man you're hiding in your cellar."

"What make you say that?" I chuckle, accept a glass and hastily down its contents. "You know as well as I do that entertaining a gentleman alone would cause a scandal that would beg to be kept secret."

"Not everyone wears a mask, however." She replies simply.

I feel all blood draining from my face and the glass nearly escapes my grasp and shatters on the floor.

"What do you mean?"

My voice sounds all wrong, squeaky and high-pitched.

"I saw him that afternoon when you invited us for tea. Except I didn't believe my eyes but now it all makes sense."

The trembles that overcome my body are beyond control.

"His name is Erik, he is French. His face is disfigured…at least I think so from what little he has shared." I answer clipped, spitting out pieces of information in hopes that she'll understand and won't consider betraying me. "He's an architect, a magician, he's well-travelled."

"You sound obsessed." Teodora laughs and reaches across to pat my hand.

"He is fascinating, that is all…" I pause, wondering if I should go on, "I've been writing about him. His life and adventures…whatever he's been willing to share with me. It's gripped me and I could not focus on anything else."

"And?"

"It's remarkable. I doubt that anyone has ever had a life like this."

I am willing her to understand.

"Then print it. Print your work and sell it. If it's as enticing as you say, people will pay good money. And you'd be independent at last."

"I couldn't…" I shake my head but the seed she's planted has already begun to take root.


	25. Chapter 24

Chapter 24: Erik, 1883

The first signs of autumn are visible when I make my way back to Giovanni's house and the fresher air makes breathing easier. I have not once been seduced by my opiates and consequently feel almost too alert, too sharp, too aware of the slight aches and pains in my body that I've come to associate with old age.

It may have only been a week but somehow it feels as if an entire lifetime has passed in the meantime and I fear that my encounters with Anne may have been nothing more than a beautiful dream that I shall be shaken out of much too soon. That strange feeling lingers forebodingly and it is with great restraint that I stay within the shadow of the wall, instead of allowing my feet to carry me to the , the lights of the house shine warm and invitingly but without a sign from Anne I daren't step closer.

After a while, it begins to drizzle and I draw my hat over my eyes while the rain coats the rooftops and slickens the streets. When I next glance up, Anne has stepped out onto the balcony and is gesturing me forward.

"Forgive me," she calls, "I still haven't developed a grasp of what precise time "nightfall" is."

My heart grows light at the sight of her and within a few strides I am level with the balcony.

"I presume your family is occupied otherwise?" I ask and she nods.

"Supper with the future family in-law."

My lips curl into a smirk in amusement when I realise that she has managed to weasel out of yet another formal affair.

"I don't know about you," she interrupts me suddenly, "but I'm catching quite a chill out here."

I forego explaining that my body is usually cold and walk away from beneath the balcony and into the house. I wait for her in the foyer, my cloak and hat dripping onto the marble floor.

"How very inconspicuous of you, Erik." She remarks dryly when she sees me.

"What would you have me do? Go back outside, wring out my garments and hang them up?"

"Let's just move on down to the cellar." She laughs and gestures. "I was afraid you might start reciting Romeo and Juliet had I given you another moment."

The implications of her insinuation bring a flush to my face that remains fortunately hidden from view thanks to my mask.

"After I had called Othello "less refined", you truly expect me to favour Romeo and Juliet?" I ask teasingly and, once in the cellar, remove my cloak and hat and place both items on the door handle.

"No," she laughs light-heartedly, "truth be told, I'd be amazed if there was one play that you had nothing to quibble about."

"Are you saying I'm finicky?" I challenge, sweep the sheet off the press and collect a number of candles from the nearby crate.

As I glance over my shoulder I can see her desperate struggle to hide the grin that is threatening to spread across her face.

"Are you saying you're not?" she finally asks in return and helps me light the candles.

I hum and feign pondering my answer for some time. "I would certainly admit to being particular but as far as I can tell there is nothing wrong with that. Easy satisfaction can lead to complacency and complacency is the death of the artist."

"Oh very well," she waves with a playful roll of the eye, "tell me at least one of his plays that you thoroughly enjoyed."

I shift towards the press now and within an instant she is by my side and helps me lower it onto the floor. Before starting my work or answering her, I move back to the corner to examine the new tools and materials she has managed to purchase.

"King Lear," I reply after some consideration.

She gasps in surprise and looks very nearly offended. "You can't be serious."

"Whyever not?" I ask confused.

"He is nothing but a tyrannical old man who got what was coming to him."

"Now that is utterly simplistic. Lear was never tyrannical…if anything he was foolish." I sigh. "He required flattery to make a hard decision and overlooked that true love at times does not require either a great declaration or a grand gesture. The moment he realised the truth about his oldest daughters he went mad with grief and in the end, he lost what was most precious to him. I am surprised you chose to overlook the strength of Cordelia or the redemption Lear undergoes."

She shrugs simply and smiles.

"I've only ever liked Kent. His loyalty and dedication are remarkable."

"May I advise you to re-read it then?" I tease her and she narrows her eyes at me.

"If I do so it will be at my own leisure and not because you have decided I ought to change my mind."

"Perhaps we should avoid further discussions of Shakespeare's works?" I offer while settling down on the ground with the tools.

"Not at all," she hurries to say, "I take great pleasure in a good debate."

"That's just as well. I doubt we'd go very far without disagreeing on something."

"That's something I find rather refreshing about you, Erik," she confesses after a while, "you don't feel the need to change yourself to win my favour. You feel…real…" She pauses and exhales deeply, "including all the smooth details and rough edges."

I begin telling her that I no longer wish to twist myself for any man but suddenly notice the change that has overcome her. The embers of mirth have died in her eyes and are replaced with a look of utter sadness. Her shoulders seem hunched and heavy and her teeth keep tugging away at her bottom lip in a nervous gesture I had not noticed before.

"Are you unwell?" I enquire carefully.

Several times she opens and closes her mouth yet doesn't speak a word. She seems desperate to tell me something but in an agonising battle with herself, not even a single sound makes it past her lips.

"You mustn't tell me if it upsets you so." I try to calm her. "But if there is anything I could do to offer assistance, please let me know."

But my words only seem to upset her further and for a dreadful second I fear she might burst into tears. I couldn't tolerate it. Yet somehow the moment passes and she composes herself again. "You are already doing enough." She offers along with a half-smile. "In that case permit me to distract you at least." I say and begin assembling the nickel-cadmium battery that will power my drill. "Perhaps you would like to hear another story?"

She swallows nervously and nods with great reluctance.

"If you prefer keeping to yourself?" I ask puzzled and she reassures me quickly.

"Don't be offended, please. I seem to be in a strange mood. Do tell me more. Perhaps about Persia? I believe I didn't hear the whole tale?"

"I believe I had stopped at the point when I had saved Nadir's life and disposed of several bandits?" I ask, pulling a candle closer to examine my progress on the battery.

"Nadir? The Nadir Khan from the correspondence was the man that came to take you to Persia?" she interrupts incredulously and I chuckle.

"Why of course."

"But you called him "the little man", "the buffoon"?"

"Yes?" I nod, breaking into a grin.

"But he is looking after your money?"

I confirm her words again and she frowns.

"If he's your friend you have a very odd way of showing it."

At this sentiment I laugh heartily. "Perhaps that's true. He is my friend now but I barely knew him then and he was rather a pain with all his grovelling and moral preaching. Come to think of it, he still is a pain."

"I trust you made it to Persia in the end?" she asks and pulls the mattress back down to the floor to make herself comfortable.

"Yes, but instead of taking me directly to the court in Teheran, we first went to Nadir's home. As the chief of police and a descendant of one of the many royal lineages he possessed a fair estate in Ashraf. It was there that I first made acquaintance with his son, Reza."

I pause overwhelmed by emotion that young boy stirs in me even now. Anne swiftly senses the change in me and inches closer to rest her hand on mine.

"Is it a sad story that you have chosen to tell?" she asks with great kindness.

"The boy had already lost his sight when I met him," I continue with great effort and am embarrassed by the hoarseness that taints my voice, "I did not take me long to realise how ill he truly was."

Her eyes fill with compassion and I have no doubt she can guess the outcome of the story. Nonetheless, she listens with quiet intensity.

"Nadir had been told that it was nothing more than a childish malady that would pass in time. So it fell to me to break the truth. Reza was a delightful and gentle soul and I did my best to make him comfortable, knowing very well that sooner rather than later he'd suffer more and more. What a cruel God He can be…to bring children into this world only to make them suffer."

My body shudders under the immensity of my feelings and Anne's grip on my hand strengthens. I close my eyes and breathe in and out, willing myself to relax in the meantime.

"Forgive me, I should not have started there. Nadir had already lost his wife and now he was going to lose his son as well. But as I said, I entertained him, I lit up his world with my voice and my magic and in the end it was me who killed him."

She frowns and seeks out my eyes. "You killed him? How?"

"I gave him a poison that put him to sleep so he would not suffer any longer." I reply in a monotone voice.

"Erik," she seems caught between annoyance and pity, "then you didn't kill him, much like you didn't kill Luciana. She suffered a tragic accident and he…well, you relieved his pain. Thanks to you he could rest easy."

"In the eyes of God it is still murder…" I mutter quietly and ignore her scoff.

"Well, we've already established that neither of us pay particular heed to him."

When I fail to react she nudges me gently and chuckles.

"You must stop thinking that everything is automatically bad just because it happened by your hand."

"Once again, you are demonstrating far too much kindness. Perhaps allow me to enlighten you to my further adventures in Persia. You may change your mind."

"You seem to have convinced yourself of that." She remarks with a lingering air of amusement.

"Ashraf was a special place…it didn't possess enough charm to make it feel like home but Reza, despite the tragedy of his illness, brought an innocence that helped me recover from the horrors of Teheran."

"You mentioned Mirza Taqui Khan before. Was he part of those horrors?"

"He would have liked to think so," I hum, "and perhaps he was if my throat is any indication."

I brush my fingertips over it and feel her eyes burn my flesh. Before I can indulge in further fantasies as to the most satisfying path her lips could take, I continue.

"In a rather whimsical turn we began loathing each other upon our first encounter. He referred to me in some derogatory, some might even say vulgar terms and I at once recognised a man frightened that a loss of power may be imminent."

"But surely that was nothing more than paranoia. Had you not only been hired as a magician?"

"You underestimate me if you believe so," I laugh amused and work on settling the battery in the drill I've devised, "the Grand Vizier might have been a boor but foolish he was not. As the days passed in Teheran I began to grow more influential which meant that the Shah favoured my input over that of his Grand Vizier. I knew that my good fortune was not to last long yet I was prepared to savour it…I must admit that it entailed playing one side against the other to maximise profit for myself."

"A dangerous game…" Anne comments quietly, "and one that seems quite beneath you."

"Perhaps," I sigh and spread my hands, "but do not forget that I was a much younger man and took pleasure in simple things."

"Such as drugs?" she challenges and I laugh in amusement.

"Material goods, Signorina, jewels and coin, exquisite fabrics, perhaps. But if you must know, I did develop a taste for opiates in Persia. Nadir suggested them to me in hopes of calming my troubled soul. He couldn't have known that no amount would be sufficient to sedate me appropriately."

"How did Mirza Taqui Khan come to place glass in your drink though?" she asks curiously.

"The climax to a long series of events…" I hum and position myself over the shell of the press to achieve the best leverage for drilling, "you see, the Shah was a young man much as myself and behind him was his mother, the Khanum, a ruthless woman, truly in charge of the court. She ruled over the concubines and often required my attention. When her son hired me to build a palace for him she grew jealous and…demanded I'd help her in building some rather unsavoury things for her."

"Such as?" she frowns.

"Torture chambers…torture devices mostly. She possessed an astounding knack of seeing right through me…right to the heart of my perverted, twisted existence. And she knew just the right tricks to ensure I didn't leave her side. But be that as it may, in a strange turn of events I was one night offered a slave girl. You see, she was to share my bed that night."

I start the mechanism that lets the drill come to life and work on creating the first hole. When I glance at her, Anne seems to have grown pale.

"Naturally a great honour but in my case it was solely done to ridicule. The Khanum knew very well what I looked like, had forced me to remove my mask at our first encounter and I have no doubt that word had spread all across the harem."

I pause and focus solely on the work for a moment, trying to swallow down the bile that has risen up from my stomach.

"In a moment of weakness I begged that slave girl to lie with me. I promised that no harm would befall her but she screamed and screamed…"I can feel myself shiver. "I had her taken away and she was publicly executed the following day in a chamber of mirrors I had designed. Despite the shame she had caused me, I was furious. What a despicable culture! What terrible folk! And so I gave a rather…blunt show of my disdain."

Anne's eyes are still firmly resting on me though she seems unable to ask any questions.

"I gave a performance that revealed the shah for the puppet he truly was and portrayed the Grand Vizier as a skeleton. I suppose the crushed glass and poison was the just reciprocation."

"In a world of barbarians perhaps." She says quietly. "But it saddens me that you allowed yourself to be corrupted like that."

I put the drill aside and inspect the hole before fitting the first set of cogs, wheels and rollers. Her disapproval is harder to shrug off, however.

"Perhaps you are at last getting a taste of who I truly am?" I suggest but in response her face clouds and her brows furrow.

"I wish you'd stop putting words in my mouth. I do realise what you're capable of, I just wish you wouldn't equal your nature to your face. The appearance of one does not give you the behaviour as well. You have choices but for some reason you've chosen to play the role of monster that's been suggested to you. I thought we'd agreed that roles are limiting."

"I didn't have a choice." I insist stubbornly and drill a second hole before fitting the other set of rollers.

"If that is so then it's a shameful waste of your potential." She decides and at once my body feels hollow as if her disappointment has carved out everything that's kept me alive.

I can't bring myself to respond, fear that every word would be another failure and instead keep working until the press is fully assembled.

"Where do you live now, Erik?" she asks; perhaps she has sensed my subdued mood.

"Near the hills of Monte Mario. There's a field of unused farmland and a cottage with a dark blue door."

My voice sounds empty and lifeless.

"May I come and visit you there from time to time?" she probes and I look up surprised. I do not understand why she'd want to or how she can be so puzzling.

"If you wish." I nod and together we carry the press back to it corner.

"Of course, and you can tell me how to run this machine now that I assume it's finished?"

"It is and I shall," I nod and cast the sheet over it.

"Would Tuesday suit you?" she asks happily.

"You know I am always available." I smile carefully and she nods.

"Tuesday it is."


	26. Chapter 25

Chapter 25: Anne, 1883

I cannot say what's worse, being with Erik or being without him. In the days of his absence when I am largely confined to my room, I write for hours on end and although my obsession has not diminished and my drive still prevails, the lingering uncertainty makes the experience less enjoyable than it was before.  
But when I am with Erik the sense of betrayal is even worse. Although I know that my interest in his life is genuine, I cannot deny seeking out more specific details now in hopes of fleshing out my story.

I focus on his life in Persia because it was those tales that first captured my attention and my imagination. Whenever the house feels silent enough, I sneak into father's library, consult maps to track Erik's journey and search for books that will bolster my knowledge about the country and its customs. Unsurprisingly, perhaps, that source is rather swiftly exhausted and I am forced to seek more material elsewhere.

Teodora doesn't seem surprised when I show up on her doorstep unannounced and invites me inside for some refreshments which I hastily decline.

"I had hoped you'd be free to accompany me to the market?" I ask instead and she glances guiltily into the house.

"I will ask mother if she'd mind looking after the children for an hour." She finally comments and retreats down the corridor.

I remain outside and peer up at the cloudy sky, had almost forgotten how moody autumn can be in this part of the world. Perhaps it is merely the strange state of my own emotions but I begin to wonder whether the sunny days I shared with Erik are also in the past.

"Mother is curious but happy to help out…provided I share with her some details later on." Teodora laughs, when she emerges again, fastening a cloak around her neck.

"She is a delightful character," I nod and begin walking towards the market.

"She can be…but also hard work." Teodora grins. "Now what are we searching for that you couldn't carry by yourself? Another part for the press? Or is it merely the company you needed?"

I twist my hands and glance guiltily over my shoulder.

"He has finished the press," I answer quietly, "though I suppose while we are out we might retrieve some ink."

"How exciting!" Teodora interrupts enthusiastically. "Can I assume we'll be able to print the next pamphlet for the _Lega promotrice degli interessi femminili_ with your press then?"

"Yes," I reply absent-mindedly, "though given the current mood at home we might consider shifting it to a different location."

"I thought it was heavy." She frowns.

"It is," I confirm somewhat snidely, "but perhaps a few hours of labour would be more worthwhile than permanently losing something that a great deal of time and money has been invested in."

Teodora's expression sobers and for a moment or two she looks rather taken aback.

"Forgive me, I wasn't thinking," she mumbles eventually, "and I did not mean to complain, I merely wondered if it was possible at all."

"If Lorenzo would be available to help or some of the other women would consider getting their hands dirty, perhaps."

We are spilling out into a mass of people that is frequenting the main road and the panic in my chest starts to rise. There are too many onlookers, too many curious eyes. How dreadfully easy it would be to be ripped along in their current, never to be found again.

Teodora seems startled by my strange behaviour or perhaps she simply hears my strangled breathing, for she suddenly grasps my hand and leads me out of the crowd and into a deserted side street.

"Are you feeling alright?" she enquires, worriedly. "You don't seem to act like yourself."

I laugh tiredly and desperately and cover my face with the palm of my hand. It's cool and sweaty and somewhat unsteady.

"I've got a lot on my mind." I say quietly when I realise that I have failed to answer her question.

"Is the book giving you trouble?" she asks and I think of Erik, by far not innocent yet so often betrayed by the ignorance of man.

"I require more books," I shrug her off, "more information about Persia than my father's library can offer."

"Then let's keep moving to the market. I am certain you'll feel much better once you have acquired a volume or two."

There is no arguing with her determined optimism and so I allow her to pull me along once more.

"Will you let me read some of it?" she suddenly asks when the sweeping space of the market piazza has come into view.

I have barely thought further than the following day but her offer is sound enough. It would be smart to let someone objective read it before I try to print and distribute it.

"I'd appreciate your input." I tell her finally.

My answer seems to please her as she manages to shake off the startled look she's had ever since I have snapped at her.

Once we have reached the stalls we browse some displays together, before Teodora splits off and goes to collect some groceries she has promised her mother and some sweets she has promised her children. In the meantime, I push my way through the crowd and towards the book stall. It isn't fully stocked yet offers enough to have me search for quite some time.

Some of the books seem so fresh I fear to smudge the ink, while others show signs of wear and tear, with yellowed pages that beckon me. I have always had a weakness for books that have visibly been passed around, imagining the concealed history that links all of its owners.

After a couple of minutes, I spot a book about practical magic and pick it up but unfortunately that's where my luck ends. While the stall holds several works of fiction as well as books about Italian history and architecture, it does not extend to other countries.

"Excuse me?" I call, trying to get the vendor's attention. "I'd like to pay for this."

He turns, glances at the title of the book I'm holding, smirks and at last names the price. I choose to overlook his demeanour and hand over the relevant change.

"You wouldn't happen to have some books about Persia or Russia in storage, would you? Or perhaps you could tell me if you'd be likely to acquire some if I offered an extra reward?"

His initial look of surprise changes to disbelief and he makes a point of eyeing me up and down slowly before answering.

"Perhaps your husband would be more suitable to negotiate matters with me? A woman who shows foreign interests like that is always worrisome and I'd hate to contribute to a scandal…even inadvertently."

His insinuation irks me and I place both my hands steadily on the table between us so that my face is closer to his.

"I do not recall asking for your opinion on my personal matters but since you must know, I am not married and it is men like you who make me glad that I am not. Now be kind enough to answer my question before I take my business elsewhere."

His eyes turn cold and he takes a determined step back.

"My inventory is beyond my control. I simply display what I've been able to acquire."

"How very unfortunately small-minded of you." I reply icily and walk away.

By the time I've managed to locate Teodora in midst of the chaos, I am seething but also in no mood to explain myself and be met by another wall of optimism and cheerfulness.

"They did not have what I was looking for." I tell her simply and we begin walking back towards her house.

"Perhaps the little store at the corner of _via delle zoccolette_ and _via degli strengari_ will have something for you. If Pietra is there, tell her that I have sent you and she might be able to take you to their secret compartment."

Swallowing down my frustration at Teodora not having shared this piece of information earlier, I nod and thank her instead.

"Perhaps I'll go there now." I add.

"You must be incredibly eager." She smiles and pulls me into her embrace.

"Don't concern yourself too much about me. I shall be fine." I answer stiffly.

"Come by whenever you are ready to share and I'll happily give you my opinion."

"Thank you," I smile again, "I shall."

But it is with great relief that I finally walk away from her. My mood is intolerable and ever-changing and I'm as miserable in my own company as I am in others. The only way to remedy that is by going ahead with the plan I have set in motion and make as much progress as I can with the book.

Fortunately, Teodora's book store turns out to be a little treasure trove. Not only does it offer a wider variety of books but its owners are kind and well-read and happy to assist me in my search without the need for penetrating questions. And so I emerge an hour later with a couple of books detailing the history and culture of Persia as well as a volume of diaries, detailing the life of the travelling folk of Russia.

The air has turned even colder when I begin my trek back home but nonetheless I savour the privacy that I have left. The house is oddly quiet when I enter though the faint sounds of cutlery tell me that the family has already assembled in the dining room to eat.

Bypassing them quickly, I head up into my room, lock the door and only light a candle in hopes they won't notice my presence for quite some time. Since our argument, father and I have made it a point to avoid each other, mother seems unable to look at me without bursting into tears and only Joanne has hesitantly dared to seek me out. I'd rather be alone though than listening to her pleas for a reconciliation. Only an apology from my father could sway me now.

Reaching for one of the books, I pull myself out of my reverie and immerse myself entirely in a different world. I read about the line of Shas, the countless lines of princes and the terrible treatment of slaves and women. An account of life in a harem and the deceptive nature of eunuchs turns out to be particularly enlightening and makes me remember Erik's story about the slave girl that was promised to had shared that tale with a mixture of humility and disgust though if the latter was due to the customs or the awakening of his own desires I cannot say.

Unbidden, thoughts of a most intimate nature infiltrate my mind. Had he ever been able to indulge in those yearnings he clearly possessed or had his face taken that from him as well? Surely every woman is aware of the sensuality he oozes, the erotic resonance his voice possesses. My thoughts wander deeper down this forbidden path, consider exquisite lessons we could teach each other. And it is with flushed cheeks and a sudden surge of panic that I realise I haven't brought a single line to the page yet.

I set off to do this thanks to a never-ending curiosity and, later on, a desire to do his life justice. Now, I have become so intertwined with it that it makes me wonder how I had ever been foolish enough to believe it was my place to do so.


	27. Chapter 26

Chapter 27: Anne, 1883

We have both settled down in our respective beds and are indulging in a peaceful moment of silence, following a somewhat awkward dance as we tried to arrange ourselves around each other. I have only ever experienced Erik as vulnerable and sick or threatening and powerful. Of course there were shades in between, but I suppose what I am trying to say is that I had never pictured him carrying out mundane tasks, such as making a bed, supplying food or undressing himself. It felt foreign and somewhat amusing to watch him carry himself with the same grace over such mundane matters. But there was also a real sense of intimacy as he exposed parts of himself he hadn't done previously. I am still clad in my plain old dress, however, fearing that exposure on my part would put an even greater suggestive spin on the evening. When in truth I am nothing more than relieved to have found shelter here tonight.

Before Erik had climbed into his makeshift bed, he extinguished all the lamps, plunging us into utter darkness. But every now and again I can see the soft glow of his peculiar eyes and know he is just as unable to sleep as I am.

Dangerous thoughts infiltrate my mind, as I begin to wonder if he is pondering the moment we shared not long ago. I wish to know if my touch filled him with the same yearning as his did to me. I wonder if he is even aware of the effect he has but somehow I don't think he is. There's an innocence to him, despite his age and despite the knowledge and maturity he otherwise exudes. I don't believe him to be naïve either, he is a man after all and will have felt some sensual stirrings in his time. But it's his inexperience that I find endearing and that also makes me long to corrupt him. I wish to unlock his pent-up desires and expose him to the exquisiteness of seduction. Yet I am aware that I am much braver in thought than I am in action. Though more experienced than him, I feel more than a mere sexual urge. He is much closer to me already without ever having touched me and I am nervous that a shift in our relationship might break some of that intimacy.

"Anne?" he suddenly draws me out of my thoughts and I can see that he has turned on his side to observe me. "Have you always been estranged from your family?"

His question takes me by surprise and I need a moment to leave behind that particular train of thought.

"Our relationship has always been strained…especially the one between me and my father." I answer eventually. "I am the oldest daughter so perhaps it is natural that I didn't get to enjoy as much freedom as my sisters. I was the experiment, so to speak. I think the truth is that my father and I are much too similar. I don't like admitting it and usually claim we are nothing alike. But he is a very stubborn man who is dedicated to his work and fully capable of losing himself in a project. I possess that very quality myself. We both have a vision of something we want to achieve, for father this is firmly rooted in his business undertakings whereas for me in the form of a creative outlet. We can both be ruthless when it comes to achieving that desired outcome. So perhaps it is our similarities that make us butt heads so often. The other side of the matter is that I don't think I ever met his expectations. I did not like being dressed up by my mother or engaging in the kind of activities that were expected of me as a woman. Father could never understand that, he just perceived me as being difficult. So the more he pushed, the more I objected and the more we grew apart. And recently…" I sigh and pause," recently I've come to know more about his business and the failures he's hiding from the family…the debt he has accumulated…it's made me resent him more. How dare he act infallible and superior when there's all that dirt just waiting to ruin our family?"

"Nonetheless you wish you could please him." Erik intersects quietly.

"Yes, unfortunately that's true. He is still my father and I want him to be proud. To hear his disappointment day in and day out is terrible…especially in moments of weakness when I believe him to be right."

"What do you mean?" he props himself up on one elbow and his hand pushes the mask a little to the side. But the darkness hides any glimpse of what might be lying underneath.

"You hear something so often you eventually start to believe it. Sometimes when I'm feeling low I believe that I am too plain or too spirited. That there is something about me that pushes suitors away or that I am too eager to find a flaw."

"And yet you choose to spend a great deal of time with me…" he remarks carefully.

His sentiment makes my chest constrict and so I roll on my back to stare at the ceiling instead of into his eyes.

"Don't ask me about the feelings I have for you, Erik," I sigh, "for when it comes to you the world seems to stand on its head. As you know I have recognised your flaws from the beginning, I fear them as much as I embrace them. I don't feel plain or silly either when I am with you. I feel seen though I am not entirely certain that you have realised all my flaws. You flatter me almost too often and yet it does not repulse me as it does with the suitors my parents have chosen. Maybe you're simply more eloquent or maybe your words feel more genuine. I cannot say. You fill my head with question marks and possibilities and it terrifies and excites me."

The silence that follows is heavy though not suffocating and yet it makes me nervous to think I might have said too much.

"Have you loved before, Anne?" he asks eventually and I tilt my head to glance at him again.

He is watching me with calm patience that soothes some of my anxiety.

"I believe I have," I announce after a while and nod, "recklessly as an adolescent without fear of rejection. Comfortably from one friend to another. Protectively for my sisters."

"All-consuming love?" he asks. His voice is so quiet that I am uncertain he has spoken at all. "So strong that it makes you yearn to possess?"

There is a dark emotion in his tone now and I scoot closer to the edge of the bed to reach him.

"Thankfully I have not experienced that. It sounds controlling and restricting, damaging to you as well as to the other person."

"Very…"

Nothing more than a whisper.

"Is that the love you have experienced?" I probe carefully and he chuckles while his eyes turn sad.

"It is the kind of love I have felt. I am not certain I have experienced love before…perhaps I have."

"You told me Giovanni was like a father…that is a kind of love, Erik." I point out and he sighs deeply. "And your friend Nadir who is still with you despite the different names you call him-" I am glad to coax a chuckle of amusement out of him "- that is also love."

His eyes search out mine, cling to them pleadingly. "And you offer me companionship. Is that a kind of love as well?"

He is helpless before me, bare and vulnerable but it does not give me the satisfaction of power. If anything it makes me feel just as helpless.

"Yes, it is," I answer truthfully and hear his exhalation of relief, "perhaps even a stronger one than the kinds that are driven by lust or passion."

"Then perhaps it is of a platonic nature after all?" he inquires hesitantly.

"Trust me when I say that it is far more than platonic." I answer hurriedly and am grateful for the dark that disguises the warmth that's shot to my face.

In return, Erik clears his throat and fumbles with a few strands of hair just above his ear. But this brief moment of awkwardness is worth it if I have made sure that he knows that his appearance and the pull I feel towards him are neither the main priority nor a hindrance.

"You make me feel content and real. I can just _be_ with you…whether in silence or in a heated debate. And there is something incredibly calming and comforting about that."

"I am grateful." He expresses softly and his eyes dance with affection.

Silence falls in the room once more and while listening to Erik's steady breathing I gradually succumb to sleep.

* * *

The next morning he insists on walking me back to the outskirts of the city from where I make my own way to the house. It is a relief to see no carriage lingering in the courtyard and to only hear Aurelio working in the kitchen. But after a moment, the peacefulness lifts and I am reminded that I must continue working on my project.

I need to wrap up the chapters of Erik's life in Persia and Italy so that I can offer a sample to Teodora. But before I do so there is something else that I need to set up. Closing the front door noisily, I walk into the kitchen and greet Aurelio.

"You must have been up at the crack of dawn, Signorina." He comments, eyeing me sceptically up and down.

"Teodora required my help carrying groceries from the market." I shrug.

"Very well," he hums, "I have just finished clearing away your family's breakfast but if you are hungry, I'd be happy to prepare you something."

"That would be lovely." I smile and draw him into an embrace and feel his body grow rigid. "I wanted to apologise for everything I have put you through. I know you were just watching out for me."

He sighs and relaxes again. "You know I have always considered you as if you were my own and that man is dangerous."

I nod hesitantly and step away again.

"What do you say if I quickly drop this off in my room?" I ask, patting my satchel. "And then I'll have my breakfast down here with you and we can catch up…just like old times?"

"That would be very enjoyable." He smiles kindly and ignoring the guilt I feel, I keep up my smile and wave.

"Just give me five minutes."

I leave the kitchen and hastily sprint up the stairs. On the first landing, I kick off my shoes and tiptoe to my father's office instead. I fumble with and finally open the locked door, stalk quietly over to the cabinet and use the key that I have just extracted from Aurelio's breast pocket to open the locked drawer.

My fingers nervously thumb through the documents until I have reached the list of people my father is indebted to. I copy their names and addresses down in my own notebook and then swiftly put everything back in its place.

If Teodora approves of my story and truly thinks it would sell well, there might be a way for me to become financially independent, resolve my father's debts and show the world the true Erik that resides behind the mask.


	29. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the kudos!!

Chapter 28: Erik, 1883

_Erik, 31.10.1883_

_Rest assured I am taking the greatest care when dealing with Ayesha. I might not share your fondness for cats but I do know how much she means to you and how difficult it was to entrust her to me. I would also like to apologise if our previous correspondence alarmed you. Your Ayesha is doing very well on the whole. She is feeding with gusto and enjoying every second in the sun that she can. But she does sense your absence and very often walks around the door, meowing for attention. I don't know much about cats but I couldn't help but think that she was asking for you. I shall console her as best as I can, do not fret.  
_

_As for the other details in your letter…I struggle to put my feelings into words. When you had left Paris I had hoped you might find peace at last, but from your words I only deduct more upheaval. I know you speak of Miss Farrington rather fondly, but I fear you might simply be getting carried away in the throes of your emotion._

_You brush over your initial meeting, disclosing solely your own feelings and a few of your actions. But do not discount the effect those might have on her. Do not mistake me, I am pleased and relieved to hear that your differences and the behaviour these, no doubt, prompted seem to have not stood in the way of a further acquaintance. But please don't be foolish. She may have forgiven you but I beseech you not to take that for granted. There might be a part of her that still fears you and I hope that that initial impression will not pose an unnecessary burden later on._

_I am also afraid you might put too much of a pressure on this relationship. I am glad that Miss Farrington is showing you kindness. I have always told you that it is not inconceivable someone might come to care for you and engage with you like any other person despite the disfigurement of your face. But caution yourself, my friend. Do not expect her to slip as easily into love as you have done. I know you won't take kindly to my words but hear me out. I am simply afraid that you will pin all your hopes on Miss Farrington as you have done with Mademoiselle Daee and will lose yourself should you be disappointed. A willow might remain robustly rooted in the earth but a strong enough wind is still capable of damaging its branches. Be aware of the intensity of your emotions for the sake of Miss Farrington and yourself._

_Lastly, spare me a few moments to discuss my life in Paris. It shan't take long as it is largely the same as when you left. I visit the opera frequently and enjoy the peace in box 5 which is still being kept empty for you. There is a new management who seems more apt than the previous one, but you know how well superstitions fester in the theatre. Perhaps the Opera Garnier will always be haunted for those who believe in its ghost. The performances have been enjoyable though I am certain you'd find one or two things to quibble about._

_At home, Ayesha and my good Darius are keeping me company but in the evening when he returns to his own little family, the solitude becomes overwhelming. I cannot fathom how you have lived with such loneliness for most of your life. It is enough to drive a man insane! It certainly has affected me in some rather unusual ways….oh I shan't go into too much detail but it has led me to take some uncharacteristic actions through which I have made the acquaintance of one Mireille Dubois. A delightful woman, not dissimilar in age with a history of family tragedy close to my own. Whenever she can spare a moment she is good enough to spend her time with me and it is thanks to her that I have begun to live again._

_I shall leave it at that for now…more words could not do her justice._

_I hope to hear from you soon._

_Your friend,_

_Nadir_

* * *

_Daroga! 09.11.1883_

_I am certain there might have been a time where your words incensed me more than they do now. I still resent your insinuations and feel that you are doing my intentions a great injustice, however, over the years I have also learned to attribute some of your lectures to affection. I truly believe that you think you are acting in my best interest…perhaps you are just concerned about me. That realisation is what has made this ongoing correspondence possible. Otherwise I might have cut all ties thanks to your impertinence!_

_Allow me to perhaps reiterate that my intentions towards Anne are nothing but benevolent. You see my focus on the positive as a decision to deny anything bad ever existed but I can assure you it isn't so. There were and still are plenty of occasions in which Anne acknowledges my misdeeds but unlike anyone else I have met she doesn't seem to view them as a just representation of my whole person. She sees that there is more to me as well._

_Though your reminder of my behaviour towards Christine infuriated me, I have to admit that you were right to caution me. My feelings towards Anne are, no doubt, stronger than hers towards me but again, they differ from those I had for Christine. As a matter of fact, I have approached the topic with Anne the other night. Let me clarify that I have not once mentioned Christine to her but there are other ways of discussing this… I mentioned how possessively I had felt before when loving, how desperate I was to own and control, and she remarked how fortunate she was never to have felt like that. Furthermore, she told me that her feelings for me were those one might have towards a companion…not driven by lust and desire…but filled with a sense of equality, perhaps. Oh I know what you're thinking! She cannot have possibly meant that, I must be reading between the lines and drawing my own conclusions. I will not try to convince you of something I know to be so true. Would you believe me if I told you that when I asked her if she perhaps alluded to a platonic relationship she denied such assumption? That she insisted it was anything but platonic?_

_She is turning my world upside down and I am nothing but a helpless bystander. But if it means that I get to spend more blissful nights in her company then I am willing to bear that spinning sensation!_

_I was pleased to read about the new acquaintance you have made. For all your annoying habits, you are a rather fine man and deserve more than the solitude you have been experiencing. I hope Mademoiselle Dubois turns out to be everything you need her to be. I don't wish to assume something that might not be there. I know you have always been loyal to your late wife and must struggle with your commitment to her. Allow me to say this, however: perhaps it is time you also thought of yourself._

_Your friend,_

_Erik_

_P.T.O.: I urge you to select a different courier next time. The current one very nearly gave away my hiding spot and then had the nerve to complain to me about the difficulty he had locating me. I might not treat him with such courtesy next time!_


	30. Chapter 29

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for the kudos!!

Chapter 29: Anne, 1883   
  


There is nothing more nerve-wracking than the hush that falls when somebody is reading the story you have written. It possesses the power of turning every positive thought against you, transforming confident writers into doubtful, anxious fools.

Even through the challenging times when you are stuck on a paragraph and every new idea seems tedious and dull, you are connected to the work in an intimate way. It is just you and the page and the thoughts in your head. There are moments of euphoria when a new twist occurs to you that seems so right it pleases your soul, and moments of agony as you brood over the tiniest detail.  
  
But when you at last choose to hand over your work to outside scrutiny, it's terrifying because this project you have nurtured and poured part of yourself into, is suddenly open for criticism and attack.  
  
It took me a long time before I trusted my friends in Bristol with my writing. I was desperate to share my work and excited for feedback but at the same time more than nervous that I might not be able to tolerate whatever they had to say. But in time I learned to relax, to appreciate the amendments they offered as much as the praise they willingly gave.

But today is different.

I have great respect for Teodora and her achievements, for her dedication and her focus, and I fear she might have placed too much confidence in me and my abilities. Likewise, I am scared that she might not be able to see just how remarkable if also painful Erik's life has been. After all, I got to hear the tale from his own mouth while Teodora will have to rely on my account alone.

I observe every smile, every curl of the lips, every intake of air. But I cannot tell if these are merely superficial signs or if she is genuinely enjoying my writing. When at last she puts the final page away, I don't dare to release the breath I am holding.

Two more excruciating seconds slip by while Teodora seems to be mulling over her response.

"It's very good!" she finally announces and I exhale.

"Very good?" I then probe. "Had you expected more?"

"Oh no," she chuckles, puts the sheets in order and hands them back to me, "it is more than I had expected, to be honest. You writing style is vivid and engaging and the story is nothing short of gripping. There is almost too much in this chapter alone though you strike a nice balance between the heartbreak and the humour."

"That's just Erik," I smile involuntarily, "that didn't require much skill on my part."

"You still had to retell it in a similar fashion and I think you've accomplished that."

I sigh with relief and allow myself a gulp of the drink Teodora has provided.

"The only thing I'm wondering…"she says after a while and then pauses abruptly to think, "but of course I haven't read everything you have written about him. You mention, or rather he mentions, time and time again how his disfigurement has earned him rejection and hatred but we must take his word for it. Other than the part of the little slave girl we have not experienced more moments like that and perhaps it would be easier to understand his motivation if we were privy to a couple more. For example, do you know anything about his upbringing? His childhood?"

I swallow against the lump in my throat and wring my hands.

"He has only mentioned that his mother did not love him and that he killed for the first time at the age of nine. More, I do not know."

"Perhaps it would be worth investigating. It would certainly add to your characterization of him. Readers enjoy a love story they can fathom…even if it's a tragic one. And what about his disfigurement?"

"What about it?" I frown.

"Have you ever seen it?"

"No." I say firmly and shake my head.

"Then how will you describe it when the time comes?"

"Why must the time come at all?" I challenge. "I don't see the need for gory details. Sometimes the reader's fantasies alone can be more terrifying."

"I suppose that's true."

She smiles and starts asking another question when a knock on the door interrupts us. Two young children with wild, dark hair fly in and embrace their mother.

"Father says the machine is secured in the attic. He says if you're ready we can try it out. Please can we see it? Please?"

Teodora laughs and affectionately caresses their cheeks.

"You may if you promise to stand back and let us work, alright?"

They nod enthusiastically and scatter off in the direction of the attic while I file away my papers and rise to my feet.

"I hope we'll figure out how to work it."

"Since you were too focused doing God knows what with Erik to ask him." Teodora grins and nudges me and I shake my head.

"We weren't doing anything inappropriate. I merely…forgot…"

"Of course," she nods seriously while her eyes twinkle with mischief, "just like you forgot to buy ink at the market the other day. Let us see what we can do. Otherwise you might have to pay him another visit. Perhaps that's what you were hoping for all along. Just another excuse to see him again."

I remain silent while we ascend the small ladder, choosing not to tell her that I wouldn't need an excuse to see Erik. Surely such a statement would only encourage her further.

The small space at the top of the house is like an oven with wooden beams creaking under the heat of the sun. Lorenzo is in his shirt-sleeves, beads of sweat accumulating on his forehead. It borders on a miracle that he has managed to lift the press up the ladder and into its current place.

I can see that the rollers are already slick with the ink Leonora purchased this morning and sheets of paper have been stacked on a little table by its side.

"I believe we are to insert the document that is to be duplicated here," Lorenzo explains, pointing at the higher set of rollers, "and a fresh sheet here. Shall we try?"

Their children scoot closer, curiously eyeing the machine, barely able to stop themselves from touching it. Teodora nods and offers a meaningless piece of paper which Lorenzo inserts before starting to turn the handle. The result is a little thick and clumsy with smudges at the corner where too much ink has been applied but the text is nonetheless legible which means that we will be able to utilise it once we have got to grips with the finer workings.

Our trial goes on for quite some time until even Teodora's children grow weary of observing the same process again and again and disappear downstairs to play with their _Nonna_ instead. But at last Teodora produces a print of the pamphlet for the _lega promotrice degli interessi femminili_ that she is satisfied with. We call an end to that day's endeavours then and there and descend into the garden for some much needed refreshments.

We watch her mother hide from the children in a rather amusing game of hide and seek and relish the tranquillity that settles down over us. I feel satisfied for once, knowing that I have accomplished something even though it was really Erik who did most of the work. But it's a vital first step nonetheless, a feasible way of producing my own book.

"Are you certain you don't wish to join me for the next meeting?" Teodora asks, leaning in. "After all, without you they wouldn't be able to start distributing their own manuscripts in Rome."

"No, I'd rather not." I decline. "I've already kept up that illusion too long. I am pleased to have been able to help their cause in the end – though I am certain sooner or later they would have found their own way of accessing a press – but that's where my involvement has to end. I don't know enough about them, the different strands of their causes to do more and I would never be fully accepted…perhaps even rightfully so. Nonetheless, I wish them well."

"Even Massima?" Teodora whispers with a broad grin.

I sigh deeply and dramatically and shrug my shoulders.

"I suppose even her. She has a right to be passionate about the work she does, although she can be too small-minded and rigid. I hope she'll achieve something that will help bring more equality for Italian women."

"And I'll make certain that they give credit where it's due."

"Thank you," I reach over to squeeze her hand, "I really appreciate it and all the help you have given me. Without him and you and Lorenzo this would not have been possible."

"And you'll still add more for the cause of women all over the world."

"How so?" I chuckle.

"Well, if your book turns out to be as successful as I think it'll be, a book written and published by a woman, it'll be inspiring for young girls everywhere."

I bite my lip and guiltily glance away, neglecting to mention that I have decided to publish my work under a male pseudonym like so many other authors. It might be a cowardly act but if my livelihood depends on it, I cannot risk being rejected on basis of my gender.

"It will still be a difficult road for them." Is what I say instead and Teodora hums in accordance.

"I presume you are going to print your copies using the press?"

"Yes, I've decided that that is the best option. Everything else would require me to invest more money and I'd have to convince some workers I do not know to print the work I am very protective over. I do not want single pages floating around or chapters falling in the wrong hands."

"You do know that once it's out of your hands you cannot influence how the public receive it and what they make of it."

"I know…" I sigh quietly, a fact that still makes my stomach turn. "It will take some time printing the volumes here as well as a better calligraphy skill than mine to make it legible. But if I can only print a few copies and hand them to the right people, perhaps there'll be surprising support from elsewhere."

"I suppose you know already that that's easier said than done?"

I stay silent for a moment and watch the children dragging Leonora out of a bush by her hand.

"I have already put a correspondence forward with some connections that I have." I say which sounds better than "with the people my father owes money".

"The ones from England that you've mentioned?" she asks and I am glad that I'm not forced to lie this instance.

"Yes. I haven't heard anything back yet as I am sure it'll take a while longer for the letter to reach them. But I am hopeful that it will peak their interest. With their support and, preferably, some monetary investment I will be able to circulate the book to the right people. Word of mouth is a powerful tool that shouldn't be underestimated. And it's the only way that I might stand a chance."


	31. Chapter 30

Chapter 30: Erik, 1883

In the following few weeks I don't see Anne as often as I'd like. I understand she is busy with a secret project for the women's rights group she is supporting but the knowledge of that does very little to appease my impatience and selfish longing for her company.

Once more, the good, old Persian turns out to be my saving grace.

Without his letter and the reminder of my actions towards Christine I know I would have given in to some reckless behaviour. I had fantasies about visiting Anne's house at night again, of climbing the balcony and forcing my way inside just to seek her out. Or of simply waiting in the shadows and accompanying her invisibly as she does her errands. I had almost convinced myself that the sight of her alone would still my thirst. But Nadir's warning rings true in my ears. I shan't risk ruining our relationship simply because I cannot bear the solitude I experience when she is not at my side.

My opiates beckon tantalisingly once more but unlike my time with Christine, where I used the withdrawal as a means of punishing myself for my desires, I now try to remind myself of the benefits of remaining abstinent. A clearer head means a clearer experience of every minute spent with Anne. And should she choose to touch me again or allow me to touch her, I want to be able to feel everything, perceive even the smallest detail.

In the end, I seek solace in my music, the very thing I had sworn never to return to again. But before I encountered Christine, it had always been capable of soothing my feelings.

The first touch of my violin brings forth a gasp of pain and memories of Christine's pristine voice. I close my eyes, settle the instrument gently beneath my chin and lift the bow. The smell of wood and rosin infiltrates my nostrils and the next sigh that escapes me is softer.

I lower the bow onto the strings and music floods forward, it pours out of my soul and fills the air around me with longing and hope. I lose myself entirely in the melodies, grow unaware of the time that passes in the meantime or the pain that makes the tips of my fingers throb.

Only the sound of one of my alarms is startling enough to make me stop. But even then, when I've lowered my violin, I am disoriented. I look around puzzled, scanning the room for the source of disruption until I finally realise that someone must have entered the house.

Setting my instrument aside, I stalk to the ladder and carefully push against the hatch.

"Was that you I heard playing?"

Anne's voice comes from the other side and I sigh with relief. I am not certain I could have dealt with an intruder with my faculties being so dazed still.

"Yes," I admit sheepishly, pushing the hatch further to grant her access, "I was trying to pass time."

"No need to sound apologetic," she chuckles and uses my hand for support to descend down to the basement, "I am pleased you overcame whatever it was that stopped you from playing in the first place. You are very gifted."

"Music has always been the cornerstone of my existence." I confess quietly and watch her as she settles down on my bed as if it was ordinary custom between us.

"Having heard you play this comes as no surprise." She nods. "Even your voice is musical."

I incline my head in acknowledgement of her words and then offer her some water which she happily accepts.

"I take it you were rather busy lately?" I ask in what I hope to be not an accusatory tone.

"Yes," she replies and sips at the water before setting it down on the ground, "too much so and my sisters' wedding is rapidly approaching which means they are in quite a state."

"Will you join them then?" I inquire and hesitantly sit down next to her on the bed.

"I believe so. I cannot imagine anything worse than a prolonged journey with my family to Milan but I could not forgive myself either, if I was not present to support Joanne and Claire."

"That's understandable," I tell her, "although I shall miss you terribly."

She chuckles delightedly and clasps my hands in hers. "What a sweet tongue you have, Erik."

"It is more than just that," I reply earnestly, "it is a heartfelt sentiment. I always miss your company."

To my surprise she nestles herself into my arms and closes her eyes.

"And I miss you."

I relish the feeling of the weight of her body against mine and very carefully snake my arms around her. When she shows no signs of protest nor the desire to shift away, I allow my hands to touch her. The warmth of her skin radiates through the fabric of her dress and I inhale deeply and slowly at the unique sensation.

It is as if she has brought the sun itself into my basement.

"Are you comfortable?" she asks quietly and I hum in response and rest my chin on the crown of her head.

I breathe in the floral scent of her hair. Moments of blissful silence slip by and neither one of us stirs.

"Are you nervous?" she mumbles against my shirt and while I ponder my answer she adds: "Because I can feel your heart flutter beneath my cheek."

"You always make me nervous." I tell her softly. "I wish I could offer you…more…"

Finally, she shifts but my arms draw her closer by their own accord. I did not mean to say something that might turn her away.

"You have no idea how enticing you are, do you?" she asks openly.

"My voice, perhaps. I have seen the effect it can have on-"

"No. You!" she corrects me quickly. "The effect _you_ have."

"That's highly impossible," I sigh, "I am inexperienced and clumsy when it comes to…"

"And it never occurred to you that that might be appealing?" she chuckles, looking up at me.

"How could it?" I reply. "You have told me about your experience with men…surely you'd prefer someone who'd match your-"

She cuts me off once more but this time I find her lips pressed against mine. They're soft and warm and expertly brush against me, teasing and coaxing low rumbles of content from my throat.

The first few seconds just pass me by until I realise that I am free to reciprocate. Nervously, I try to imitate her movements, caressing her lips with mine until at last a tug of her bottom lip brings forth the most exquisite sound.

Anne's eyes are closed, her chest is resting against mine as I slide my hand higher up her back, weaving my fingers through her hair until I cradle the back of her head against the palm of my hand. I cannot say how long we remain entwined like this. I cannot say if I am alive or if I have stopped breathing. There is only this intoxicating sensation that is paralysing and invigorating all at once.

By the time I moan her name, we both need to stop and suck in air. Her eyes are as dark as the depth of the sea and her chest is rising and falling rapidly.

"That's shut you up, hasn't it?" she remarks at last, a broad, mischievous grin spreading across her face. "I had a feeling you would turn out to be a very good student."

"You take too much pleasure in teasing me, Signorina." I scold her playfully and lift her hand to my lips.

"You have no idea." She grins again, but I notice the lower tone of her voice. There is a promise in there that makes me shiver.

Quickly, I pull her closer again and claim her mouth. She doesn't protest and eagerly matches the heated rhythm my lips dictate.

More minutes pass, hours even in which we do little more than indulge in the exploration of each other's bodies. In the end, it is only tiredness that is capable of stopping us.

Having long since abandoned our sitting position, we curl up against each other on the mattress, a discarded heap of clothing at the foot of the bed. Anne is flushed and huddled against me, her legs wound around mine. She doesn't speak but every now and again produces faint sounds of contentment that are enough to make my heart sing.

I wish to say something but a declaration of my feelings seems too grand and I cannot think of any words suitable enough to express the sentiment. Instead I satisfy myself drawing patterns along her spine, delighting in any caress that makes her shiver and arch her back.

"You're insatiable." She chuckles at one point and I place a soothing kiss on her forehead.

"Forgive me…I do not wish to rouse you while you are trying to rest. I simply cannot help myself."

"Have I started a new addiction?" she asks teasingly and tilts her chin up to meet my eyes.

"Perhaps," I concede with a grin, "but can you blame me when you're so…exquisite?"

I tilt her head up further and kiss and nip at her neck until she squeals.

"Hush now, you silly man." She instructs between bouts of laughter, lifting her hands to straighten my mask. "Let us enjoy a moment of peace. One can never predict what the next day might bring."


	32. Chapter 31

Chapter 31: Anne, 1883

I cannot believe that a mere few weeks ago I thought physical intimacy would have a negative impact on our relationship. But perhaps I had an inkling even then how detrimental it would be to focusing on any other task. Even when I think I am concentrating and making good progress, I will suddenly catch myself reminiscing about the heat of Erik's body or the expertise his lips possess when it comes to caressing me. In the end, I decide to channel some of the desire into creativity and find a way of incorporating that romantic storyline Teodora asked for into the book.

More time slips by until I, at last, receive a letter from my father's debt-collectors. Their voices seem gruff even though I am only going by the words written on a piece of paper. But they are intrigued enough to meet with me to hear further details of my proposition.

Another correspondence follows, as well as a response which is given much faster than the previous one. It bolsters my self-esteem and gives me an air of confidence when I finally walk into one of the dingy bars in _Trastevere_ that I have chosen as the perfect location for our meeting.

Although this particular district has got a cleaner image now than it possessed a decade or two ago, it is still known for illegal interactions frequently carried out here. And the bar that I have chosen is almost renowned for a specific clientele. The front of house is open and inviting, with a large counter lining the left wall, completely adorned with wine glasses, jugs and goblets.

In front of it on tall barstools, men and women perch precariously to catch a glimpse of the chalkboard menu that advertises the meagre choice of dishes. I cut through the crowd behind the bar and make my way to the barely illuminated backstairs from where I descend into the dimly lit cellar in which privacy is the first order of business and no questions are asked. It makes me feel a little uncomfortable being among this folk, uncertain in how much danger I really am, but I push on until I find a small table in a corner of the room. I take a seat and nervously begin surveying the space, secretly wishing I would have acquired a drink at the bar above if only to have something to keep my hands busy with.

I prop my satchel up on my knees, open it and slip my hand inside to feel the rough edges of the printed pages I have brought along. I lean back to try and inspect the inked letters but sit up straighter a second later, when my back comes into contact with the moist wall behind me. I'm beginning to feel claustrophobic so the quicker I can leave, the better.

As the time ticks by, I keep glancing around the room, my eyes sticking to one group of people after the other. I have no interest in their business, am merely trying to find something to distract myself with, but they are all too aware of my looks and quickly start returning the eye contact darkly. The threat in the air creates a lump in my throat and a queasy feeling in the pit of my stomach and for the following few minutes I solely focus on the table and occasionally the bottom of the stairs to spot the men before they spot me.

In the end, I hear their English accents before I see them descend the stairs. They are talking loudly and boisterously and with the confidence of men who know that they can only make a profit. One is tall and slender and carries a gun visibly on his belt, the other is a head smaller with arms like tree-trunks and a scar across both his lips.

When I stand up to greet them and their eyes land on me and the yellow lily petal I have promised to wear in the breast pocket of my dress, I can watch the amusement slip off their faces and make way for confusion. I know they weren't expecting to see a woman since I ended our correspondences with an almost identical replica of my father's signature. I know that the note about the flower in my breast pocket would've been brushed off as just another eccentricity of a fellow Englishman. But I have their attention now and will have to act fast before they can draw the wrong conclusions and leave.

"Join me!" I offer assertively and draw two chairs back for them.

One man eyeballs the other before they both reluctantly sink down.

"If this is a jest, perhaps we should advise you that wasting our time can be dangerous."

"Please, gentlemen," I intersect quickly, "I had hoped my letter had made my intentions clear. I am not in the habit of wasting anyone's time."

"Yet you have deceived us or is your name Edward Farrington?" the shorter man mutters; it sounds as if he is mauling gravel between his teeth.

"My name is Anne Farrington, Edward Farrington is my father and, as I had laid out in the letter, I was hoping to offer a way to pay back the money he owes you."

Their guffaws grate on my nerves but I refuse to let it show.

"And how do you plan on doing so?" the shorter man challenges, coaxed into action by my persistent silence.

"I strongly doubt that whatever inheritance daddy has promised you would cover all our expenses."

I grasp my satchel so firmly that my nails dig between the threads that are holding it together.

"Have you not read a single line of our correspondence?" I hiss, unable to help myself.

My heart is beating in my throat but it isn't enough to make me tolerate their incompetence.

"The book." The taller man offers lazily before taking a hearty swig of his ale.

The liquid swishes around in its cup and splashes up and into his large mouth, drenching his moustache.

"Ah yes…there was something peculiar going on all along."

I straighten my spine and defiantly tilt my chin upwards. Perhaps it is time to become the heroine of my own story.

"There is nothing peculiar about it. It is a book I have written based on the real experiences of an extraordinary man."

"And what makes him so extraordinary?" Shortie challenges.

There are no words in the English language that would allow me to make these pig-headed men see Erik's potential, but for the sake of all our future I must try.

"He is a gifted musician, a craftsman, architect and artist. He has travelled several countries far and wide."

"Yes, yes," the tall one interrupts rudely, gesturing impatiently, "but what makes him interesting? Nobody wants to read about some cocky know-it-all. People want intrigue and drama!"

"Romance!" Shortie joins in importantly.

"If you would allow me to finish," I respond, pinching the bridge of my nose, "you will find that all the things you have just listed are part of the book. He is terribly disfigured, a genius shunned by the world, loving fiercely without ever receiving love in return."

I disgust myself for exploiting Erik's fate like this but I need to sell it if I want my plan to work. To my relief they both exchange a pleasantly surprised look and a nod.

"That sounds a little better." Shortie concludes. "But what makes you think it's going to sell well? What makes you think it will earn enough to cover the debts your father has racked up as well as your own ones?"

"First of all, my debts to you will be minimal." I tell them firmly. "I have already printed several copies in English as well as Italian and, therefore, will only need your help in locating an artist to design the cover and help circulate the final product."

My words are exaggerated, of course. I only hold two copies, the one I have brought as a sample for them and one more in my drawer at home. Both of them are in English because Teodora has only just started the translating work with my help. But there is no margin for error here and if I must oversell the product, so be it.

"Still," the tall man shrugs, "you are a woman, a nobody. Who'd want to read it?"

"I will use a pseudonym, of course. Besides, remember that most popular authors were nobodies once upon a time. And as it so happens I already have a trusted readership in England and a small following here in Italy."

When they exchange a look this time I can see that they don't believe me but there is also a greed there that tells me they are not about to turn down this opportunity.

"What happens if you're wrong?" the tall man probes.

He has emptied his drink by now and rests his forearms on the table to lean closer.

"Yes," Shortie nods, snapping up the chance for a better deal, "where's our security?"

"If sales aren't as successful as I suspect they'll be," I pause, taking a deep breath, "you can take our house and everything in it. It's a mansion, built by a prominent Italian architect. Combined with the goods inside, the debts will well and truly be erased."

All or nothing, a risk that I will have to live with from now on. At least my sisters will be happily married and away from all the chaos and father has catapulted himself into this position before I even knew about it. If I fail, it is only just that he won't be able to keep the money the marriages have earned him. Of poor mother, I cannot bear to think.

"That's a deal, Miss Farrington." The short man decides and with a curt nod produces an empty piece of paper.

The taller one snatches it away, brings forth a pen and starts to jot down the details of our contract. I watch the ink splatter on the page, filling it slowly and unevenly like a hastily woven spider's web.

"Your signature at the bottom, Miss Farrington."

The instruction sounds more like an order and I know then that even if I wanted to change my mind, they would no longer allow me to leave. My hand trembles as I accept the pen, signing over my life and Erik's story to a couple of men who have not even asked to read my work; a couple of ruthless men who have nothing to lose. The tip scratches the paper and the die has been cast.


	33. Chapter 32

Chapter 32: Erik, 1884

_Daroga! 06.01.1884_

_I have not heard from you in quite some time but have decided to take that as a sign that your relationship with Mademoiselle Dubois is blossoming. Nonetheless, I am not embarrassed to inform you that your omittance of New Year's wishes is rather tactless!_

_As always, I shall take the moral high ground and wish you all the best for this newly begun year. May you be fond of every moment, graced by fortune and good company and may your heart never grow narrow! Perhaps selfishly, may I also express my desire that you will learn to grow more tranquil at your old age. Do not see problems where there are none and have faith that your late wife and most certainly Reza, would have wanted you to find happiness once more._

_I am writing this letter in a bit of a hurry as the New Year has provided me with an unforeseen turn of events. But first, let me fill you in on a few matters that you know nothing about thanks to your own negligence! Anne and I have…made some progress, for lack of a better term. Did I possess some doubts as to the nature of our relationship at our last correspondence, I can now well and truly announce that she holds my heart and I hold hers. She has kissed me willingly and sometimes with a passion that takes my breath away._

_What a fool I was to believe that Christine had taught me everything about that powerful emotion. How little I knew! Sometimes I can barely tell what's more intoxicating: the heat of Anne's body or the ferocity of her spirit! How fortunate I am to possess both._

_We spent several days, weeks even, in each other's blissful company passing time in the idlest of ways. But fear not, no minute with her could ever be considered a waste! I do believe she had other matters to attend to, but neither one of us could exist without the other. You must think me a dreadful dolt and perhaps you'd be right, but I am so utterly taken with her, I could not care less!_

_But I digress. Recently Anne has begun to act strange, preferring the safety of my arms to the excitement of a debate. She has felt tense and frightened, glancing over her shoulder whenever I could persuade her to take a walk outside. When I confronted her she grew more evasive, offering only peculiar half-sentences devoid of meaning. I fear she might be in trouble but too humble to ask my help._

_So finally, I offered it by my own accord. She was here a few days ago to celebrate with me the turning of the years. We had dined together and enjoyed some music when her eyes grew sad once more and I felt that invisible barrier rise between us. I told her that she did not need to explain her affairs to me but that perhaps she would benefit from some time away from her family. She is not on good terms with them, you see, and I imagined that some of the stress might stem from there. To my surprise, her eyes lit up at the suggestion, and she begged me to depart with her one night after her sisters' wedding which will be two days from now._

_I shall whisk her away to the south of Italy to see the splendours I did not yet have time to focus on. I shall fulfil her every wish until I am certain to have eased some of that pressure that rests on her shoulders. Should she wish to return home afterwards to settle her familial affairs, I shall be happy to oblige. If not, I might propose an extended journey to France. I am certain you would enjoy her company and perhaps it is time I met Mademoiselle Dubois as well._

_So you see that although there is change in the air, I am more than prepared to take it in my stride. Anne has made me bolder and happier and by far a better man. Now, I shall pay her back with all the kindness I possess. You may not hear from me for quite some time, daroga, but rest assured I shall announce our arrival should she welcome my plans to see Paris._

_Your friend,_

_Erik_


	34. Chapter 33

Chapter 33: Anne, 1884

 

I have barely embraced my sisters one last time when I am already in a carriage, flying out of Milan and towards Rome. I take solace in knowing that they are safe and sound in the arms of their new husbands and that love prevails over money and power for both of them. Now it is my turn to find peace with my man.

We are running away together!

There, I have said it, admitted it to myself once and for all. I have never been conventional, though I must admit that this kind of behaviour borders on reckless. But there are no other options left than to run.

I am in over my head.

There, I've admitted that as well. I have permanently broken the relationship with my family, I have made a deal with two terrible individuals that have pressured me at every turn and I cannot hand them the book I have promised because I cannot betray Erik. Not anymore.

It's foolish and naïve and immature but the damage is done and the only way out is to escape with him.

When I finally reach the house, Erik will be there waiting and together we shall leave Rome. He doesn't know it yet but I shan't ever return. I shall never look back over my shoulder to the mess I've left behind. Perhaps one day I will learn to live with the terrible choices I've made. Perhaps one day I'll be able to tell Erik and beg my family for forgiveness.

The journey seems to drag on endlessly and I am filled with too much adrenalin to sleep, despite the heaviness that has taken over my body. Questions I do not know the answers to are whirling around in my head, tormenting me. Has my family noticed I am gone? Are they merely furious or do they assume that something is wrong? Would father send Aurelio to try and track me down?

A new day starts and then begins to die before my eyes. My shoulders ache with fatigue and my stomach is bare and empty. I crave to see Erik, need his presence to reassure me that somehow this whole mess will turn out to be alright.

How my role has changed over the course of just one year…

At last we draw into the courtyard and I have climbed out of the carriage before the driver can even open the doors for me. I lift out my suitcase and pay him with some of my stashed away savings and then bolt for the front door.

That's when I notice that something isn't right.

The door is open and the handle is missing, broken off and discarded a few steps further beneath the balcony. My heart beat accelerates and for a moment I remain where I am, frozen in space with my hand on the damaged door. Finally, I take a deep breath and step inside.

Everything is eerily quiet and except for the front door nothing seems out of place and yet I know that something is very wrong. Leaving my suitcase by the door, I tiptoe up the stairs towards my room when suddenly someone yanks me back and a hand settles over my mouth to stifle my screams.

I want to kick and fight but instead my body goes limp, paralysed by fear.

"Took a vacation you forgot to tell us about?" a voice whispers and my chest starts to expand frantically against my attacker's arm.

It is one of the debt-collectors, the taller one, if I am not mistaken.

"I wasn't aware I needed to inform you of my whereabouts." I reply, surprising myself with the venom in my voice.

"That's enough lip," he growls in my ear, "you know damn well what I'm on about. You owe us the book and since you weren't here to deliver we've started repossessing the house as per our contract."

"The book wasn't due for another three days." I snarl back at him but he easily muffles my voice with his hand.

"Imagine our surprise then when we saw you and the whole family leave…butler and all. We couldn't help but grow suspicious. How could we know you were to return so quickly?"

His sweet tone and alcohol-laden breath is making me nauseous.

"I suppose trust isn't a concept you understand?" I pant against the overwhelming feeling and shiver when he laughs exuberantly.

"If you've been in the business as long as we have, you learn very quickly not to trust debtors. They're crafty little shits when they want to be."

I'm trying to think my way out of this predicament but it's as if the cogs and wheels of my brain have become rusty and slow.

"What do you want with me then?" I ask at last. "As you've just said, you already own the house. I could not take that from you even if I tried."

"We're searching for the book, of course. Surely you must have the volumes you promised us hidden somewhere. Unless you'd like to admit that it was just a ruse to deceive us? In which case I want to inform you now that we don't take kindly to someone standing in the way of maximising our profit."

"Vultures." I hiss and kick back against his shins.

He emits a soft groan of pain but doesn't budge.

I need to distract him, if only long enough to make a run for my room and dispose of the only copy that is still locked away in my drawer, the very one I had decided to burn before Erik's arrival. Foolish attachment, even in that regard.

"One wrong move and you're dead." The man mutters but instead of pushing his gun to my temple or shifting his hand to my throat, he only lets out a strange gurgling sound next.

"That wouldn't be very advisable now would it, Sir?" Erik's voice is quiet and low and my momentary relief is quickly replaced by overwhelming dread.

He can't be here. Not yet. Not in the company of these men.

I push forward once more against the arm that is now hanging slack around my chest. Once free, I whirl around to take in the terrible image in front of me.

Erik is standing close behind the man, towering even over him. Around the man's neck is the lasso I had seen once before. The noose isn't fastened entirely but close enough to make the man wheeze and groan. His face is turning blood-shot yet he possesses enough restraint not to struggle against Erik. Perhaps he knows that it would only make matters worse.

"Move away from him Anne." Erik instructs just as quietly.

His eyes never leave the man's neck. They are dark and foreboding and filled with a kind of lust that almost frightens me.

"Ah, there he is. The man himself." Another voice suddenly echoes from the room behind me. It holds me frozen to the spot, makes me miss an intake of breath, maybe two.

It's the shorter man and in his hands is my book. If Erik is confused by his words he doesn't show it. At this moment in time, I can't say with certainty that he even hears him.

"You really are good," Shortie grins sickeningly while his eyes lazily slide from me to Erik, "such accurate descriptions."

He carelessly rifles through the unbound pages, lets them fall to the floor at my feet and I cannot breathe.

"The white, smooth mask prohibited any glimpse of the face underneath. It was disconcerting to look at, rigid and unmoving as it was. Had it not been for his eyes, those peculiar amber orbs that contained such sadness, I would have thought him entirely unfeeling."

My writing shatters the tense silence between us. I cannot bear to look at Erik, want to offer some form of explanation. But words escape me, as does time. There's a whistling sound in my ears.

"There's something I've been asking myself ever since I've been reading over our correspondence. Why would a man…an ugly, hideous monster, willingly confess to all these atrocities? And now it's occurred to me. He doesn't know, does he? You saw," he pauses and carelessly drops another wad of papers until he finds what he's looking for, " 'the despair that lurked in him' ", he quotes cruelly, " 'the wretched need for love and affection he possessed' and you milked it all for your own selfish gain, you crafty little wench."

My face forms a silent plea but I am still too numb to react. I want to fling myself at him, rip the papers to shreds but instead I am condemned to stand and watch.

It happens swiftly and quietly. A sharp jerk of the arm and the gurgling dies down. A body drops at my feet. Their eyes meet, Erik's spine poises for attack and then the shorter man charges. He tramples over his dead companion. Papers everywhere. A sickening crunch as Erik's back collides with the wall behind him. The short man is stronger, but he's not quick enough. A dagger slips through muscle and fat. Another sickening crunch. Blood gushes out. A second body falls to the floor. I'm watching without seeing anything. I blink. It stings. Salt or tears. I force myself to see.

Erik is still standing. His breathing is laboured, there is blood on his mouth, his mask is broken. But he is still standing.

His eyes never find mine.

"I wanted to show them…"I begin, everything shakes. "My father's debts…my livelihood."

Too many words. My tongue's too thick. My voice too thin.

He takes a step forward, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. Then he reaches up and removes the broken halves of his mask.

I flinch. I cover my mouth with my hand. I cannot bear to look at him, cannot bear to watch him shatter before my eyes.

There is only one monster in this room. It remains behind while the man leaves without another word, without a second glance.


	35. Epilogue

Epilogue: Erik, 1884

_Daroga!_

_I am leaving Rome alone. I shan't ever speak of Anne again. Do not waste your time locating me._

_Erik_

* * *

I can't tell how many months pass though there are the tell-tale shifts in the weather as one season slips into the next. But they are meaningless. Just as the landscapes and houses that change and vary as I pass through them. Exactly how much colour Anne gave my life becomes painfully obvious when the grey veil slips over my eyes once again.

Every once in a while a clear memory will pierce through this mist, warming my heart before stinging me with its falsity.

I suppose I should feel flattered that I was at least interesting enough to serve as a subject for a book. But in the end even that is just a hollow comfort as it only leaves me as a subject, not a graspable, feeling being.

Had there been no gain for her would she have wasted her time with me? And what of the kisses, the intimacy?

I am supposed to be smart but I cannot make them fit with the rest of the story. Unless there is a romantic twist to the book that she exploited me for as well. My heart aches, my body roars with anger, dispelling blood like poison through my mouth.

* * *

There are no opiates strong enough to sooth me, I know; there is no escaping her and the kindness she had shown me. I cannot bring myself to hate her. Unlike Christine, she rarely withdrew from me in fear and when she did, she bravely told me why. It does not make her betrayal undone but at least it makes it impossible for me to condemn her.

When the pain in my chest has subsided to nothing more than a faint twinge, I return to Rome. I want to collect the rest of my belongings that I have left behind. I wanted to retrieve them together with Anne after our journey if she agreed to join me to France, now I am returning with nothing more than a ghost.

Rome hasn't changed in my absence and even the little cottage I'd used as my hideout seems unchanged. No weeds have claimed the stone walls, no storms have shattered its foundation. It's a painful reminder of a long lost normalcy.

My steps are hesitant as I approach, my hands timid as I push open the door. It creaks softly but the room behind it lies quietly. Nothing has changed…except… A curious stack of envelopes draws my attention. It is neatly arranged to the right of the doorway.

I pause and reach out to touch the topmost letter. It is Nadir's clear handwriting. Carefully, my fingers tear into the envelope.

_Erik,_

_I wish you would just respond. Perhaps you still haven't returned. Perhaps you stayed true to your word…but nonetheless I must try to reach you. Please, if you receive this correspondence or any of the previous ones, contact me via my messenger. He has been instructed to seek out your address once every week._

That would explain the neatly arranged pile of letters.

_Miss Farrington has been in contact with me regularly since your departure and while I don't claim to know everything about the past events, I do feel to grasp a lot more now. I understand you're hurt, given your history I don't believe anyone could fault you for that. But I beseech you to listen to her, hear what she has to say. After all, you know her better than I do.  
She was wrong and she is most remorseful but even more than that, I can feel the loss she has suffered in her letters. Her feelings for you are true. Remember the forgiveness, the kindness Christine showed you even in the face of all your terrible misdeeds. Perhaps it is time to grant Anne the redemption that you have received._

_Life is too short to while away alone and she truly cares about you._

_Your friend,_

_Nadir_

More conflicting emotions start to brew in my body as I try to weigh Nadir's naiveté against his unwavering loyalty to me. He has always been truthful. He certainly would not be cruel enough to send me back into the arms of failure.

I set his envelope aside and thumb carefully through the remaining stack. There are four more letters in his handwriting. But even when I have discarded them, a big pile remains and although I don't recognise the handwriting, I know that they are from her.

I try to swallow around the lump in my throat and at last open one with the utmost care.

_Dear Erik,_

_I beg you to hear me out-_

Something akin to a soft sigh escapes me and I hurriedly fold the letter up again. I hear her voice, her essence, everything I crave in those two lines. I think about all the moments we've shared, her strange, frightened behaviour, her half-attempts at sharing something she could just not bring herself to say.

Perhaps if I had only listened instead of trying to solve and help. Perhaps it would have stung just the same but at least my mind would be free of all these maybes.

My fingers fumble with another letter. There is nothing I can do to stop them.

_My dear Erik,_

_I returned to your house today but you still weren't there. I am empty without you. Every day I curse my foolishness-_

Too much. I must proceed slowly if I want her words to build a new structure on top of the ruins. Masonry cannot be rushed, one false stone and everything crumbles anew.

_Tonight a sense of dread overwhelmed me as I considered your fate. I hope to God you are well. I pray you are looking after yourself._

Gently now. A roof to weather the storm. Something sturdy, palpable, strong.

_I am and will always remain yours, Erik._

Tremors are passing through my body and I am doing nothing to stop them. Her letters, her words have pieced me back together so that I am finally whole again.

Perhaps there is still a chance. Perhaps, like Nadir suggested, I can show her forgiveness. But will she ever return here again? Or must I seek her out? My heart suggests one, my pride another.

My trembling hands scoop up the collection of letters and pocket them safely beneath my cloak. Then I move across to the rug that hides the hatch, remove it and slowly climb downstairs. There is no darkness my eyes must adjust to for all the kerosene lamps on the walls are lit.

A startled figure sits up on the bed, nervously brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.

"I thought it was only the messenger again." She offers, a hesitant smile twitching on the corners of her mouth.

My lungs fill with too much air, occupying the space my words were meant to take.

"Anne…"

More I am not capable of. My eyes devour her, feast on her image that they were denied for far too long.

"I'll leave if you want me to," she starts, rising slowly from the bed. It's as if I am a frightened animal she fears to startle. "I was staying here because…well, I couldn't bear another moment at that dreadful house with my father's punishing silence. And so I left before he could ask me to a second time. I had returned here weekly to look for any signs of your return. After…your departure I begged Teodora and Lorenzo to help me dispose of the bodies and thankfully they did. It was Teodora's mother, Leonora, who convinced me to keep coming here, to keep hoping. I stayed with them at first but…after their last helpful act our relationship changed. This place felt…safe…it was the only one where your lingering presence felt more like the promise of a new beginning than an end."

Her face flushes suddenly and she twists her hands.

"Forgive me, that sounded presumptuous." She takes a sudden step forward and grasps my hands. "Are you well? I mean…physically? Have you looked after yourself?"

My cool touch seems to calm her.

"I am fine." I tell her, unmoving.

I am out of my depth, caught between the urge to tell her she's forgiven and the fear she might step away from me. How did Christine find the courage to offer me absolution?

"I need you to hear this and then I will leave," she tells me, "but please don't push me away sooner. When I first started writing about you it was with no intention whatsoever. Your tales gripped me, moved me and stimulated my creativity. It just happened…and I couldn't stop. The closer we grew, the more I wrote and the more I felt the desire to defend you…no…not defend you but to give a version of the account I had perceived. But in the meantime, my situation at home grew worse. You knew about the tension between me and my father and the debts he had amassed."

She doesn't stop once, perhaps in fear that I won't allow her to speak again.

"Well, one day we had a big fight and he suggested I'd find a place of my own. Panic drove me to confess things to Teodora that I otherwise wouldn't have and so this new idea was born. It was selfish…merely created to help myself out of my predicament though over time I convinced myself that I was also doing it to settle my father's debts and show the world this remarkable man I had found, I had fallen in love with. I contacted the two debt-collectors you encountered, I made them promises I couldn't keep and in the end when I took up your offer to run…when I realised I could not bare your story to the world for it was yours and not mine to tell…well, they came to the house and you were present to witness the rest."

She takes a deep breath, clasping my hands firmer.

"This must mean nothing to you and I don't want you to feel bad for me. I just want you to understand that nothing I ever did was to deceive you. Nothing I shared with you, from the trivial to the most intimate, was a lie." She grazes my knuckles with her lips. "I am not the flawless angel you wished me to be, Erik, forgive me."

Her words jar something within me, rip open something I had attempted to carefully sew shut.

"You are human." My voice sounds strangely hoarse. "Even angels can speak with poisoned tongues. They are unreachable in their false superiority. You, my dear, are real. You succeed, you fail, you are beautiful and sometimes ugly. But you are palpable and true. A real woman to share my bed, my walks, my debates. That is all I ever asked for."

The words emerge by themselves and as I say them I recognise them to be true.

When I gaze down upon her, her eyes are brimming over with tears. Hope swells in my chest and infiltrates her body when my lips claim hers. She sighs, sags against me and responds with fervour and emotion.

"How would you like to see the south of France? I hear it is beautiful this time of year." I suggest after a while and her laugh rings exquisitely through her tears.


End file.
